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LIBRARY 


OF    THE 


PHILADELPHIA 


MUSEUM 


OF    ART 


iS/#  S    JZl  eM<&<m  o  J  J  > 


THE 


BeposWorp 


OF 


ARTS,  LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  fyc. 


THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


July  1,  1823. 


N°-  VII. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 

1.  View  of  Tabley-Hou.se     ..... 

2.  Scene  in  Tarley-Park       ..... 

3.  Ladies'  Morning  Dress     ..... 

4.   Ball  Dress  ..... 

5.  Chairs         ........ 

C.  Muslin  Patterns. 


PAGE 

1 

2 
56 

ih. 
59 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Views  of  Country  Seats. — Tabley-IIouse, 
the  Seat  of  Sir  John  Fleming  Leicester, 
Bart ] 

Letters  from  Reginald  Filterbrain,  of  the 
Inner  Temple,  Esq 3 

Anecdotes,  &c.  Historical,  Literary, 
and  Personal — Rob  Roy  Macgregor 
— Kissing; — Ossian's  Poems — Sir  Ro- 
bert Douglas — The  Industrious  Corn. 
munity — Character  of  the  Russians, 
by  Madame  de  Stael  —  Maria  I.ec- 
zinska,  Queen  of  Louis  XV. — The  Wry 
Mouth — Discovery  of  Murder — Curi- 
ous Theatrical  Calculation — Fonte- 
nelle 5 

Ghost  Stories.  No.  !•■ — The  Three  Bro- 
thers        9 

Recollections  of  West  Mill,  Foxearth, 
the  Residence  of  Robert  Lanchcster, 
Esq    ByJ.M.  Lacey 15 

R-euiarks  on  the  Popular  Prejudices 
against  Old  Maids 17 

Worcester  in  1823 20 

The  Castle  and  the  Farm,  or  the  Foster- 
Brothers:  A  Tale 23 

The  Horrors  of  a  Hackney-Coach      .     .     28 

Discovery  of  Remarkable  Animal  Re- 
mains in  the  Kingdom  of  Wirtemberg     30 

Remarks  on  the  Condition  of  the  People 
of  India.  Extracted  from  a  Letter 
from  an  Officer 31 

French  Female  Parliament. — Chamber 
of  Deputies 32 

Extract  of  a  Letter  from  the  Captain  of 
a  Convict-Ship 34 

The  Progress  of  a  Fashion 35 

The  Buccaneers 38 

The  Eccentric  Monitor 41 

Gaelic  Relics.  No.  V. — Campa  Run, 
the  Field  of  Secret  Combat,  in  which 
Epithet  the  Name  of  Cameron  origi- 
nated       42 


PAG  K 
Anniversary  and  Rewards  adjudged  by 

the  Society  of  Arts 4fi 

Cure  of  Hydrophobia 49 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Hummel's  Arrangementof  Mozart's  Sym- 
phonies   50 

Moschei.es'  Variations  on  "  the  Fall  of 
Paris" 


L' Aurora  d' Italia.     No.  I 

Selection  of  Songs,  &,c.  from  German 
Operas 

Danneley's  "  Queen  of  every  moving 
measure" 

M'Murdie's  Glee  for  four  Voices   .     .     . 

Monro's  "  The  Champion  Waltz"      .     . 

Woodward's  'f  Orythia,"  Air  Fantasia 

Weiibe's  Ode  to  Spring,  a  Glee      .     . 

Rimuaui.t's  Arrangement  of  Rossini's 
Overture  and  Introduction  to  the  Ope- 
ra of  "  La  Donna  del  Lago"       .     .     . 

Rossini's  "  In  morning's  dawn  no  hope 
I  see" 

Ries's  "  When  meteor  lights"  .... 

Bishop's  "  Home,  sweet  home"     .     .     . 

EINE  ARTS. 

Exhibition  of  the  British  Institution    .     . 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions.  —  Ladies'     Morning 


ih. 
51 

ih 


ih. 

53 

ih. 


ih. 
54 
ib. 


Ml 


Dn 


Ball  Dress 

General   Observations   on   Fashion   and 

Dress 

French  Female  Fashions        

Fashionable   Furniture — Chairs       .     . 

INTELLIGENCE, 

LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC   .     .     . 

POETRY. 

Address  to  the   Five  Oaks  at  Dallwitz 

(From  the  German  ofTm-oDORE  Korneji) 
The  Fairy  Well:    An  old  Ballad     .     .     . 


56 

ih. 


57 
58 
'  51> 

60 


Printed  by  I*  Harrison,  373,  Strand. 


TO  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
on  or  before  the  1 5th  of  the  month,  Announcements  of  Works  which  they  may  have  on 
hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert  them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense. 
New  Musical  Publications  also,  if  a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  Publisher,  shall  be  duly 
noticed  in  our  Review;  and  Extracts  from  new  Books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an 
interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our  Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

Had  Homo  furnished  us  ivith  an  address,  we  should  hare  returned  a  private 
answer :  as  it  is,  we  can  only  acknowledge  that  we  have  received  his  hint,  which  shall 
receive  due  attention. 

The  Letter  of  Reginald  Filterbrain,  inserted  in  the  present  Number,  is  the  first 
of  a  series  of  six.     The  others  shall  follow  in  monthly  succession. 

The  Pleasures  of  a  Hackney-Coach,  and  The  Wife  of  a  Genius,  shall  appear 
in  our  next  Number. 


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This  Work  may  also  be  had  of  Messrs.  Aubon  and  Kkai*,  Rotterdam. 


THE 


depositor? 


OF 


ARTS,  LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  8$c. 


THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


July  1,  1823. 


N°-  VII. 


VIEWS  OF  COUNTRY-SEATS. 

TABLEY-HOUSE,    THE    SEAT   OF   SIR   JOHN    FLEMING   LEICESTER,    BART. 


This  elegant  and  noble  edifice  is 
situated  about  two  miles  from  Knuts- 
ford  in  Cheshire.  It  was  built  by 
Sir  Peter  Leicester,  father  to  the 
present  baronet,  and  is  considered 
the  chef-tVoeuvre  of  the  celebrated 
architect,  Carr.  Our  view  is  taken 
from  the  south,  shewing  the  fine 
Doric  portico,  which  is  remarkable 
for  the  size  and  beautiful  proportions 
of  the  columns,  each  consisting  of  a 
single  stone,  and  is  certainly  the 
largest  in  the  kingdom.  The  base- 
ment story  forms  a  fine  and  exten- 
sive saloon,  constituting  an  excellent 
lounge,  or  place  for  in-door  exercises 
when  the  weather  will  not  permit  the 
enjoyment  of  the  endless  variety  of 
amusements  which  the  grounds  pre- 
sent, such  as  sailing,  driving,  fishing, 
&c.  A  handsome  double  flight  of 
steps  leads  to  the  main  entrance  and 

Vol.  II.  No.  VII. 


to  the  principal  suites  of  apartments, 
which  are  numerous,  magnificent, 
and  fitted  up  in  a  suitable  style  of 
splendour.  The  Picture-Gallery  is 
a  superb  room,  measuring  72  feet  by 
32,  fitted  up  by  Mr.  Harrison  of 
Chester,  under  Sir  John's  directions, 
for  a  portion  of  his  admirable  col- 
lection of  paintings.  Little  need  be 
said  of  the  taste  of  so  munificent, 
and  indeed  of  the  earliest  patron  of 
modern  art,  while  this  gallery  and 
the  superb  collection  in  Sir  John's 
town-house  exist.  We  have  taken 
frequent  occasion  to  pay  our  tribute 
to  the  spirit  and  liberality  of  the 
owner;  but  all  our  commendations 
must  fall  short  of  the  feelings  of  an 
admiring  public,  who  annually  have 
opportunities  of  enjoying  the  mental 
feast  afforded  by  some  of  the  finest 
works  of  modern  artists.  To  Sir  John 
B 


% 


TABLEY-IIOUSE. 


is  due  the  proud  distinction  of  being 
the  first  to  form  a  British  Gallery,  and 
with  truly  patriotic  feeling,  throwing 
open  these  fine  specimens  of  the 
British  school  to  those  who  are  ca- 
pable of  appreciating  them.  An  ex- 
cellent catalogue  of  the  entire  collec- 
tion, with  etchings,  has  been,  by  per- 
mission of  Sir  John,  executed  by 
Mr.  Young,  engraver  to  his  Majesty. 
The  pictures  at  Tabley-House  are: 
Fall  of  the  Rhine  at  Schaffhausen, 
by  Turner,  certainly  one  of  his  most 
splendid  pictures. 

A  Scene  in  Tabley-Park,  by  the 
same  artist. 

View  on  the  Wye,  by  the  same. 
Returning  from  Market,   a  fine 
picture  by  Callcott. 

The  Calling  of  Samuel,  by  Opie. 
La  Fayette  in  the  Dungeon   at 
Olmutz,  by  Northcote. 

Portrait  of  Lady  Hamilton  as  a 
Bacchante,  by  Romney. 

Dalmatian  Dogs,  by  Ward. 
Vulture  and  Snake,  by  Northcote. 
Landscape  with   Cattle  and  Fi- 
gures, by  Williamson. 

A  carefully  finished  picture  of  Bull- 
Baiting,  by  Ibbetson. 

View  ofBeeston  Castle,  Cheshire, 
by  Barret. 

There  are  also  several  beautiful 
Landscapes  by  Sir  John,  remarkable 
for  their  charming  tone  of  colour 
and  breadth  of  effect. 

A  few  pictures  of  the  old  mas- 
ters deserve  particular  notice.  These 
are : 

A  most  beautiful  portrait  of  Lady 
Byron,  by  Sir  Peter  Lely,  which  is 
a  splendid  specimen  of  this  master's 
works. 

A  remarkably  fine  portrait  by  Van- 
dyke of  Lord  Byron,  attended  by  a 
black  page  leading  a  charger. 

The  Adoration,  by  Carlo  Maratti. 


King  John  resigning  his  Crown 
to  the  Pope's  Legate,  by  old  Francs. 
At  the  end  of  the  gallery  is  a  full- 
length  portrait  of  the  munificent 
owner,  leaning  against  a  charger,  in 
his  military  habiliments,  as  colonel  of 
the  yeomanry  cavalry. 

The  ceiling  of  the  gallery  is  or- 
namented, and  from  the  middle  di- 
vision a  superb  chandelier  is  sus- 
pended. The  sofas  and  chairs  are 
of  deep  red  figured  silk  and  gold, 
to  correspond  with  the  rich  hangings 
and  finishings  of  this  splendid  apart- 
ment. The  whole  of  the  ornaments 
are  in  matt  and  burnished  gold. — 
Dwarf  agate  columns,  with  candela- 
bra, are  placed  at  intervals,  and  have 
a  pleasing  effect. 

The  Drawing-Room  contains  a  fine 
full-length  portrait  of  his  Royal 
Highness  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
by  Sir  Wm.  Beechey ;  and  an  excel- 
lent portrait,  by  Northcote,  of  Tho- 
mas Lyster  Parker,  Esq.  A  num- 
ber of  fine  family  portraits  are  dis- 
tributed in  various  apartments. 

The  views  across  the  grounds,  from 
the  front  of  the  mansion,  which,  in- 
cluding the  wings,  extends  343  feet, 
are  very  interesting;  an  extensive 
sheet  of  water,  with  its  lakes  and  ma- 
rine accompaniments,  has  a  pleasing 
effect  from  all  parts  of  the  grounds, 
particularly  from  the  house.  This 
lake  was  formed  by  Sir  John  at  a 
considerable  expense.  It  occupies 
70  acres,  and  in  many  parts  is  30  feet 
deep.  A  tower  rises  from  a  small 
island  in  the  centre,  as  may  be  seen 
in  the  annexed  view,  copied  by  per- 
mission from  a  painting  by  Turner. 
This  tower  contains  some  good  apart- 
ments adapted  for  fishing  parties. 
The  terrace  commands  extensive 
views  of  the  Derbyshire  hills. 
Connected  with  this  lake  there  is 


LETTERS    FROM    REGINALD    FILTERBRAIN. 


a  second,  also  seen  from  the  house, 
nearly  surrounded  with  overhanging 
woods.  It  is  divided  from  the  for- 
mer hy  a  Gothic  boat-house  and 
bridge:  a  considerable  and  pleasing 
fall  takes  place  at  the  centre  arch,  to 
supply  the  lower  lake,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  which,  on  an  island,  is  situat- 
ed Nether  Tabley,  a  Gothic  struc- 
ture, forming,  with  the  church  (now 
used  for  the  family),  which  stands 
beside  it,  a  most  picturesque  and  ve- 
nerable object.  It  was  the  original 
habitation  of  that  celebrated  anti- 
quarian Sir  Peter  Leicester,  Bart, 
author  of"  The  Antiquities  of  Che- 
shire," &c.  It  was  built  in  the  reign 
of  Richard  II.  and  is  preserved  with 
great  care.  Its  highly  carved  man- 
tel-pieces, its  door-ways  hung  with 
tapestiy,  its  stained  glass  and  old 
sculptured  entrance  entwined  with 
ivy,  which  is  so  luxuriant  as  to  co- 
ver the  very  battlements,  combined 
with  its  sequestered  situation,  pro- 
duce  a  truly   romantic   effect.      A 


small  portion  of  the  edifice  is  appro- 
priated to  the  domestic  use  of  the 
head-gardener.  Access  is  acquired 
by  a  simple  bridge,  which  has  on  the 
main  land  its  small  Gothic  portal  or 
keep. 

The  park  contains  about  600  acres, 
is  well  wooded,  and  has  some  excel- 
lent drives.  The  main  road  from 
Manchester  to  Chester  crosses  a  por- 
tion of  it  at  the  back  of  the  mansion : 
the  connection  is  preserved  by  means 
of  sunk  fences. 

The  pleasure-grounds  are  well  laid 
out.  The  gardens  are  ample,  with  a 
considerable  extent  of  wall  for  fruit, 
forcing- houses,  and  green  -  houses. 
The  stables  may  be  considered  as  a 
perfect  model,  both  as  to  magnifi- 
cence and  convenience.  They  con- 
sist of  a  neat  elegant  quadrangle,  in 
the  middle  of  which  is  a  spacious 
riding-house.  The  offices  belonging 
to  the  stables,  for  such  they  may 
with  great  propriety  be  styled,  pos- 
sess every  possible  convenience. 


LETTERS  FROM  REGINALD  FILTERBRAIN, 

Of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq. 

Letter  I. 

"  You  have  made  shift  to  run  into't,  boots  and  spurs  and  all." 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 


BEHOLD,my  dear  chum,  safe  arrived  at  the  end 
Of  his  perilous  trip,  your  adventurous  friend. 
You,  who  never  quit  London,  save  once  in 

an  age, 
And  then  in  the  Hampstead  or  Camberwell 

stage, 
No  idea  can  form  of  the  vast  undertaking, 
Of  the  journey  from  which  my  poor  bones 

are  now  aching. 
This  morning  you  started  me  off,  my  dear 

Billy, 
In  "  the  Hero,"  that  leaves  the  White  Bear, 

Piccadilly. 
Figg'd  out  in  my  coat  of  stone-blue,  from 

the  hand 
Of  a   great  dandy-decker  that  lives  in  the 

Strand. 


My  trowsers  and  waistcoat  so  gaily  striped 
through 

With  a  broad  line  of  piuk  and  a  light  one  of 
blue, 

Occasioned    a   blackguard    to    say,  with   a 
grin, 

"  Yonder  gemmau's  been   dragg'd  through 
a  ruling  machine." 

A  pair  of  brass  spurs  were  screw'd  tight  in. 
my  heels; 

The  rowels   you  slily   compar'd  to  coach- 
wheels. 

My   cloak  was  the   wonder  of  every  be- 
holder, 

Most  gracefully  thrown,  d  I'Ecosse,  o'er  my 
shoulder. 

B  2 


LETTERS    FROM    REGINALD    F1LTERBRAIN. 


But  excuse  this  digression  :  long  trots  are 

the  rage, 
And  we  did  it  in  style  to  the  end  of  the  stage; 
And  while   there  changing   horses,  a   coach 

hove  in  sight 
With  four  beautiful  chesnuts,  and  distanc'd 

us  quite. 
But  our  Jehu,  remounted,  push'd  on,  for  the 

sake 
Of  his  fame  as  a  whip,  which  he  felt  was  at 

stake ; 
He  came  up  with  his  rival  in  excellent  style, 
And  we  gallop'd  along,  neck  and  neck,  for  a 

mile. 
Our  fair  fellow-trav'lers  were  lustily  scream- 
ing* 
While  I  of  impending  disaster  ne'er  dream- 
ing. 
But  highly  diverted  the  contest  to  see, 
Rubb'd  my  hands,  and   roar'd,    "   Bravo!'' 

with  infinite  glee. 
But  the  road  growing  narrow,  the  two  coaches 

met 
In  horrid  concussion,  and  ours  was  upset. 
I,  who  sat  on  the  roof  (while  I  tell  it  I  shiver), 
Plump'd  into  a  hedge  that  hung  over  a  river, 
Where  my   spurs  stopp'd  my  flight,  and   I 

hung  ('tis  no  fib) 
Like  Narcissus  admiring  the  cut  of  his  jib. 
The  reflection,  although  interesting  and  new, 
I  must  freely  confess  I'd  no  wish  to  pursue. 
But  my  head  prov'd  too  heavy  at  length  for 

my  hocks, 
And  I  felt  myself  slide  like  a  ship  off  the 

stocks  j 
And  just  as  my  nose,  like  the  prow  of  the 

ship, 
In  the  treacherous  wave  was  beginning  to  dip, 
A  barge  coming  by,  I  was  seiz'd  by  the  poll, 
And  lugg'd  in  on  a  cargo  of  West-country 

coal ; 
Whence  arising,  instanter,   and  feeing  the 

bargeman, 
J  was  once  more  on  dear  terra  firma  at  large, 

man. 
I  soon  found  the  coach,  which  by  this  time 

had  righted, 
With  the  passengers  round  it  all  sorely  af- 
frighted. 
No  bones  had  been  broken,  though  some  got 

a  bruising: 
One  over  a  rent  in  his  doublet  wus  musing ; 
One  look'd  rather  grim  with  his  head  in  a 

band ; 
While   another  held  forth  his  eye-tooth  in 

his  hand, 


And  seem'd  tiff'd  when  I  said,  not  intending 

to  pique, 
"  Pray,  allow  me  to  look,   sir,  that  tooth's 

a  unique." 
I  saw  one  old  gentleman  chafing  his  shin, 
And  another  applying  a  patch  to  his  chin. 
A  prim  maiden  lady  was  blushing  quite  blue, 
That  her  knees  she'd  expos'd  to  the  vulgar 

folks'  view  ; 
While  her  neighbour  exclaim'd,  as  he  count- 
ed his  sprains, 
**  She  might  think  herself  lucky  she'd  not 

shewn  her  brains." 
But  each,  after  a  while,   in  his  place  rein- 
stated, 
We  set  forward   again,   though   with    speed 

much  abated  ; 
And,  without  further  peril,    at  length  were 

set  down 
At  the  end  of  our  journey,  a  small  country 

town, 
Whence  the  road  to  my  friend's  was  through 

lanes  and  bye-ways, 
So   I  judged  it  most    prudent  to   order  a 

chaise: 
But  to  this  I  soon  found  there  was  one  small 

objection ; 
They  were  all  swept  away  by  the  general 

election. 
As  for  tramping  on  foot,  all  the  knaves  were 

so  drunk, 
There  was  no  one  to  guide  me  and  carry  my 

trunk  ; 
And  without  any  guide,  in  a  night  dark  as 

pitch, 
'Twas  a  hundred  to  one  I  fell  into  a  ditch. 
So  I  rang  for  the  waiter,  and  order'd  a  bed  ; 
But  I  found  I  might  just  as  well  ask  for  his 

head. 
"  So,  so,"  I  exclaim'd,  "  pretty  clearly  I 

see 
This  election  has  left  no  election  for  me." 
When  a  voice  from  behind  me,  that  sounded 

not  strange, 
Said,  "   My   dennett    shall   whisk    you   to 

Priory  Grange." 
I  turn'd  round— 'twas  my  friend,  to  whose 

dwelling  we  sped, 
And  arrived  just  in  time  to  be  shewn  up  to 

bed. 
But  I  judg'd  for  my  safety  you'd  be  in  a 

stew, 
And  could  not  go  to  sleep  ere  I'd  written.—* 

Adieu! 

W.  H.  H. 


5 


ANECDOTES,  &c. 
HISTORICAL,  LITERARY,  AND  PERSONAL. 


ROB    ROY    M/VCGREGOR. 

When  the  far-famed  Rob  Roy 
Macgregor  was  on  his  death-bed,  a 
person  whom  he  considered  to  have 
done  him  ill  offices  came  to  see  him, 
requesting  admission  to  his  cham- 
ber. He  called  his  sons  to  his  bed- 
side. "  Help  me  to  rise,"  said  the 
high-spirited  son  of  Alpin,  "  put  on 
my  clothes,  and  buckle  on  my  arms. 
An  enemy  shall  not  see  Rob  Roy 
Macgregor  in  the  posture  of  defeat.'' 
His  sons  implicitly  obeyed  this  order. 
The  stranger  had  access,  and  was  re- 
ceived with  cold  civility.  When  he 
departed,  Rob  Roy  desired  his  sons 
to  call  in  the  piper.  The  piper  with 
his  pipe  appeared.  The  dying  man 
shook  hands  with  him,  and  recpiested 
to  hear  the  ancient  pibroch,  "  Cka 
title  mi  tuilli"  which  means,  "  I  shall 
never  return."  Rob  Roy  expired 
with  the  "  voice  of  battle"  pealing 
in  his  ear,  and  girded  with  his  war- 
like accoutrements.  This  true  and 
highly  characteristic  anecdote  is  lit- 
tle known,  but  it  is  worthy  of  a 
place  in  the  best  selection. 


KISSING. 

Doctor  Pierius  Winsenius,  histo- 
riographer to  their  high  mightinesses, 
in  his  Chronicle,  printed  at  Franeck- 
ar,  in  1622,  makes  known  for  the 
edification  of  Britons,  that  the  en- 
dearing familiarity  of  kissing  was  un- 
known in  our  isle  until  imparted  to 
Vortigern  by  the  beauteous  Ronix, 
a  princess  of  the  Frisick  nation.  In 
New-Zealand  the  pressure  of  lips  is 
never  practised.  If  aNew-Zealander 
would  fondle  his  fair-one  or  child, 
they  touch  noses. 


OSSIAN  S    POEMS. 

The  poems  of  Ossian  have  been 
translated  into  the  Dutch  language  by 
a  writer  named  Bilderdyk,  and  they 
are  greatly  admired.  He  accounts 
for  Dr.  Johnson's  inveterate  preju- 
dice against  the  authenticity  of  those 
compositions,  by  observing,  that 
Johnson  was  ignorant  of  Highland 
antiquities,  though  the  multitude  be- 
lieved he  knew  every  thing. 


SIR    ROBERT    DOUGLAS. 

At  the  battle  of  Steenkirk,  Sir 
Robert  Douglas,  seeing  the  colours 
of  his  regiment  in  the  hands  of  the 
enemy,  sprung  over  a  hedge,  slew 
the  French  officer  who  was  carrying 
off  the  standard,  and  cast  it  beyond 
the  inclosure  into  the  hands  of  his 
own  corps.  It  readied  them  in  safe- 
ty, and  Sir  Robert,  surrounded  by 
the  French,  defended  himself  sal- 
lantly  until  he  fell  covered  with 
wounds.  The  Roman  general  Post- 
humus  dashed  his  colours  into  the 
midst  of  the  enemy  for  his  soldiers  to 
retrieve ;  but  Douglas,  alone,  un- 
supported, rescued  the  banner,  and 
gave  his  life  as  the  ransom. 


THE    INDUSTRIOUS    COMMUNITY. 

A  French  bishop,  on  his  round  of 
visitations,  sent  notice  to  a  certain 
curate,  that  he  would  dine  with  him; 
but  requested  to  have  no  entertain- 
ment beyond  simple  fair.  To  his 
great  surprise,  he  found  the  apart- 
ments and  viands  in  a  style  of  ele- 
gance. The  bishop  expressed  great 
concern  at  the  expense  he  had  occa- 
sioned; and  the  curate  assured  him 
the  whole  charges  were  defrayed  by 


a 


ANECDOTES,    &C.  HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL. 


a  convent  of  industrious  young  dam- 
sels in  the  neighbourhood.  The 
bishop  said  he  had  never  heard  of  a 
nunnery  in  that  quarter.  The  curate 
begged  leave  to  conduct  him  thither, 
and  led  the  dignitary  to  a  thriving 
apiary.  "  These  laborious  damsels," 
said  the  curate,  "  are  my  providers  in 
every  comfort.  The  income  of  my 
curacy  I  give  to  the  poor." 


CHARACTER    OF     THE    RUSSIANS,     BY 
MADAME    DE   STAEL. 

The  manner  of  the  Russians  is  so 
obliging,  that,  from  the  very  first  day, 
you  might  imagine  yourself  intimate 
with  them ;  and  probably  at  the  end 
of  ten  years  you  would  not  be  so. 
The  silence  of  a  Russian  is  altogether 
extraordinary:  this  silence  is  occa- 
sioned solely  by  the  interest  he  takes 
in  a  subject  or  design.  In  other  in- 
stances, they  talk  as  much  as  you  will, 
but  their  conversation  shews  you  no 
more' than  their  politeness;  it  betrays 
neither  their  feelings  nor  opinions. 
They  have  been  frequently  compar- 
ed to  the  French ;  in  my  opinion  with 
the  least  justice  m  the  world.  The 
flexibility  of  their  organs  makes  imi- 
tation in  all  things  a  matter  of  ease  to 
them.  They  are  English,  French,  or 
German  in  their  manners,  according 
to  circumstances,  but  they  never  cease 
to  be  Russians;  that  is  to  say,  uniting 
impetuosity  and  reserve ;  more  capa- 
ble of  passion  than  friendship ;  more 
devout  than  virtuous;  more  brave 
than  chivalrous;  and  so  violent  in 
their  desires,  that  nothing  can  stop 
them  when  any  gratification  is  in 
question.  Poetry,  eloquence,  and 
literature  are  not  yet  to  be  found 
in  Russia ;  luxury,  power,  and  courage 
are  the  principal  objects  of  their 
pride  and  ambition:  all  other  me- 
thods of  acquiring  distinction  appear 


effeminate  and  vain  to  this  semi-civi- 
lized nation. 


MARIA    LECKZINSKA,    QUEEN    OF 
LOUIS    XV. 

This  princess,  who  passionately 
loved  her  husband,  suffered  exces- 
sively from  his  first  infidelities:  ne- 
vertheless, the  death  of  his  mistress, 
Madame  de  Chateauroux,  whom  she 
had  known  very  young,  and  who  had 
ever  been  the  object  of  her  bounty, 
made  a  painful  impression  upon  her. 
This  good  queen  had  imbibed  in  her 
infancy  a  superstitious  dread  of 
ghosts,  of  which  she  never  could  en- 
tirely rid  herself.  The  first  night 
that  she  passed  after  having  heard  of 
the  death  of  Madame  Chateauroux, 
which  was  rather  sudden,  she  found 
it  impossible  to  sleep,  and  made  one 
of  her  women  sit  up  with  her.  This 
attendant,  at  the  queen's  desire,  en- 
deavoured to  lull  her  to  sleep,  by  re- 
lating to  her  such  tales  as  children 
generally  are  told  by  their  nurses : 
for  a  long  time,  however,  she  could 
not  close  her  eyes;  at  last,  the  Jem?ne 
de  chambre  fancied  she  was  asleep, 
ceased  to  speak,  and  began  softly  to 
move  from  the  side  of  the  bed.  The 
queen,  who  was  only  dosing,  awoke 
instantly,  and  cried  out,  "  Where  are 
you  going?  Stop,  and  proceed  with 
your  story."  It  was  then  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning:  the  tired  femme  de 
chambre,  whose  name  was  Boirot, 
said  with  great  naivete,  "  But  what 
is  the  matter  with  your  majesty  to- 
night ?  Have  you  any  fever  ?  Shall  I 
send  for  your  physician?" — "  Oh! 
no,  no,  my  good  Boirot,  I  am  not 
ill;  but  that  poor  Madame  de  Cha- 
teauroux, if  she  were  to  appear!" — 
"  Good  God,  madam!"  cried  the 
\femme  de  chambre,  who  had  now 
I  lost  all  patience,  "  if  Madame  de 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,   LITERARY,    AiND   PERSONAL. 


Chateauroux  does  come  back,  you 
may  be  very  sure  it  wont  be  to  fetch 
your  majesty."  The  queen  burst  in- 
to a  laugh  at  this  speech;  her  agita- 
tion ceased,  and  she  soon  after  fell 
asleep. 

A  collection  of  the  thoughts  of 
this  princess  has  been  published, 
among  which  we  find  the  following: 
"  Contentment  rarely  travels  with 
fortune,  but  it  follows  virtue  even  in 
misfortune." 

The  queen  had  sent  to  her  father, 
the  dethroned  King  of  Poland,  the 
morning-gown  which  the  king  set  on 
fire  in  standing  too  near  the  grate : 
though  dreadfully  burnt,  the  prince 
flattered  himself  he  should  recover 
from  the  effects  of  his  dreadful  acci- 
dent. He  wished  to  inform  the 
queen  of  it  himself,  and  in  order  to 
make  as  light  of  it  as  possible,  he 
wrote  to  her  in  a  tone  of  cheerfulness, 
and  after  relating  the  accident,  add- 
ed, "  What  consoles  me,  my  dear,  is, 
that  I  burn  for  you."  To  her  last 
hour,  the  queen  retained  this  letter, 
and  her  women  often  surprised  her 
kissing  a  paper  which  they  believed 
to  be  it.  This  was  the  last  letter 
she  ever  received  from  her  father. 

Although  Maria  disliked  the  for- 
malities of  the  drawing-room,  yet  the 
king's  fondness  of  hunting,  and  the 
short  journeys  that  he  often  took, 
obliged  her  to  have  court-days  very 
often.  She  received  the  ambassa- 
dors, the  grandees  of  her  own  king- 
dom, and  foreigners  of  distinction, 
with  an  easy  grace  and  an  air  of  sa- 
tisfaction, that  might  have  induced  a 
belief  that  she  was  delighted  with  a 
ceremonial  to  which  she  merely  sub- 
mitted from  duty.  Her  figure  was 
somewhat  against  her  on  these  occa- 
sions, as  she  was  rather  undersized ; 
but  this  disadvantage  was  amply  com- 


pensated by  the  rest  of  her  exterior. 
No  woman  understood  better  than 
she  did,  how  to  play  the  part  of  a 
queen,  or  how  to  secure  the  suffra- 
ges of  all  with  whom  she  conversed. 
She  entered  with  equal  ease  and  af- 
fability into  the  affairs  of  people  of 
all  ranks  and  professions  who  were 
presented  to  her;  had  something 
obliging  to  say  to  every  body ;  and 
whether  she  granted,  promised,  or 
refused,  all  retired  satisfied  with  the 
manner  in  which  they  had  been 
treated. 


THIS   WRY    MOUTH. 

Renard,  a  physician  of  Paris, 
piqued  himself  on  his  extraordinary 
sharp-sightedness.  One  day  on  call- 
ing to  visit  a  patient,  he  found  an  old 
abbe  playing  a  sober  game  at  piquet 
with  him.  "  What  are  you  doing 
here,  Monsieur  l'Abhe?"  exclaimed 
Renard :  "  go  home,  and  get  bled 
immediately.  You  have  not  a  mo- 
ment to  lose." 

The  abbe  was  so  terrified  by  this 
address,  that  lie  was  unable  to  stir : 
he  was,  therefore,  conveyed  home 
and  put  to  bed.  Renard  followed 
him,  and  directed  that  he  should  be 
bled  three  or  four  times;  he  then 
prescribed  an  emetic,  and  every  time 
he  called,  he  found  the  abbe  worse 
and  worse. 

On  the  third  day,  the  patient's 
brother  was  summoned  from  the 
country.  He  hurried  to  town,  and 
was  informed  that  his  brother  was 
dying.  Renard  was  in  his  chamber 
when  he  entered.  "  For  God's  sake," 
said  he,  "  what  is  the  matter  with 
my  brother  ?" — "  He  has  had  a  vio- 
lent attack  of  apoplexy,  without  be- 
ing aware  of  it,"  replied  Renard. 
"  Fortunately  I  met  with  him  at  a 
patient's  where  I  called,  and  disco- 


8 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL. 


vered  it  by  his  mouth,  which  was 
drawn  awry." — "Good  heavens!"  re- 
joined the  brother  of  the  supposed 
dying  abbe,  "  my  brother  has  had  a 
wry  mouth  these  sixty  years." — 
"  Why  was  I  not  told  so  before?"  ex- 
claimed Renard;  "  it  would  have 
saved  me  much  trouble  and  him  much 
unnecessary  expense.  'Tis  no  fault 
of  mine." 


DISCOVERY    OF    MURDER. 

On  the  banks  of  the  Lake  of  the 
Four  Forest  Towns  in  Switzerland, 
the  following  tradition  is  current : 

A  musician  once  went  with  his 
daughter,  seven  years  old,  to  a  pub- 
lic-house near  the  lake,  where  boat- 
men frequently  land  when  the  wind 
proves  unfavourable.  He  had  play- 
ed all  night  to  a  party  of  dancers, 
without  paying  any  attention  to  his 
child,  which  fell  asleep  with  hunger 
and  weariness.  In  going  home,  she 
asked  him  for  bread.  "  You  shall 
have  some,"  said  he,  "  if  you  answer 
me  three  questions:  In  the  first 
place,  what  is  softer  than  down?" — 
"  A  mother's  bosom,"  replied  the 
girl. — "  What  is  sweeter  than  ho- 
ney?"— "Amother's  milk."— "  What 
is  harder  than  stone  ?" — "  A  father's 
heart."  Incensed  at  this  answer,  the 
father  seized  the  child  by  the  legs 
and  dashed  out  her  brains  against  the 
rocks.  Overwhelmed  with  horror  at 
the  crime  he  had  perpetrated,  he  hur- 
ried to  Schwyz,  and  enlisted  in  a 
Swiss  regiment  that  was  raising  for 
the  service  of  Spain.  The  bloody 
trade  of  a  soldier  stifled  for  some 
time  the  voice  of  conscience.  Seve- 
ral years  had  elapsed,  and  he  was 
sitting  with  some  jovial  companions 
over  their  cups,  when  the  conversa- 
tion turned  upon  stories  of  murders. 
One  of  his   comrades   maintained, 


that  every  crime  is  discovered  soon- 
er or  later,  and  receives  its  just  re- 
ward .  "  That  is  not  true !"  cried  the 
murderer;  and  to  prove  his  assertion, 
he  related  his  own  story,  and  thus 
betrayed  himself.  He  was  put  in 
irons,  and  sent  back  to  Schwyz,  where 
he  paid  the  penalty  of  his  unnatural 
atrocity  upon  the  scaffold. 


CURIOUS   THEATRICAL   CALCULATION. 

A  regular  frequenter  of  the  the- 
atres of  the  Boulevards  at  Paris  has 
for  his  amusement  made  a  calculation 
of  the  melodramatic  crimes  and  mis- 
fortunes of  the  principal  performers 
of  those  theatres.  According  to  this 
calculation,  Tantin  has  been  stabbed 
1 6,302  times.  Marty  has  undergone 
11,000  poisonings  with  variations. 
Frenoy  has  been  put  to  death  27,000 
times  in  various  ways.  Mademoiselle 
Adele  Dupuis  has  been  innocently 
seduced,  carried  off,  drowned,  or 
otherwise  disposed  of,  750,000  times. 
Madame  Levesque  has  been  tried 
for  her  life  64,000  times ;  and  Made- 
moiselle Olivier,  who  has  been  but  a 
very  short  time  on  the  stage,  has  al- 
ready emptied  the  chalice  of  guilt 
and  vengeance  1600  times.  Here 
then  are  869,902  crimes  to  be  divid- 
ed among  five  persons,  who  never- 
theless enjoy  excellent  health  and 
universal  respect. 


FONTENELLE. 

A  friend  who  once  called  to  see 
Fontenelle,  found  the  old  man,  who 
was  usually  extremely  cheerful,  in  a 
very  ill  humour.  He  inquired  what 
was  the  matter.  "  The  best  tempered 
person,"  rejoined  Fontenelle,  "  must 
in  the  end  lose  all  patience  if  he  is 
treated  as  I  am.  Only  think,  I  have 
but  one  servant,  and  yet  I  am  as 
much  neglected  as  if  I  had  twenty." 


9 


GHOST  STORIES.— No. 

THE  THREE  BROTHERS. 


I. 


On  a  calm  autumnal  afternoon,  the 
serenity  of  which  formed  a  cheering 
contrast  with  the  boisterous  morning, 
while  the  dark  blue  sky  bade  fair  to 
obliterate  all  recollections  of  the 
equinoctial  squalls  of  the  preceding 
days,  a  cabriolet  drew  up  at  a  coun- 
try pot-house,  near  St.  Servan  in 
Brittany,  dignified  by  the  imposing- 
title  of  IS  Hotel  des  Trots  Empereurs. 
The  pause  of  wheels  was  here  any 
tiling  but  the  signal  for  the  agitation 
of  feet.  No  innkeeper  bustled  to 
the  door,  no  visitors  gathered  to 
scrutinize  the  new-comers,  and  it  re- 
quired the  utmost  extent  of  the 
lungs  of  a  fat  bon-rirant,  who  held 
the  reins,  to  draw  forth  a  tottering 
old  man  in  a  blouse  or  smock-frock, 
who,  on  reaching  the  door  by  the  aid 
of  a  crutch,  doffed  his  greasy  night- 
cap, and  begged  to  be  honoured 
with  their  commands.  "  The  road 
to  St.  Malo,  grand-papa  ?" — "  Ah  ! 
gentlemen!"  rejoined  the  old  man, 
screwing  up  his  mouth  with  all  the 
prefatory  symptoms  of  a  long  dis- 
course, but  appearing  to  recollect 
himself,  he  hobbled  into  the  house, 
leaving  the  two  travellers  in  the  gig- 
to  their  patience,  and  the  enjoyment 
of  a  superb  prospect  of  the  sea. 
Whether  he  had  gone  to  make  far- 
ther inquiries,  or  did  not  think  com- 
pany, who  only  asked  for  the  road, 
worth  his  attention,  seemed  for  some 
minutes  doubtful,  till  his  reappear- 
ance with  a  ponderous  volume,  the 
leaves  of  which  bore  evident  marks 
of  constant  reference.  "  Zounds!" 
exclaimed  the  charioteer,  "  do  you 
want  a  post-book  to  tell  the  road  to 
St.  Malo,  which  cannot  be  a  league 
distant?" — "A  moment  if  you  please; 

Vol.  II.  No.  VII. 


I  am  only  looking  for  the  moon's 
age." — "  The  moon's  age,  you  luna- 
tic!" retorted  a  meagre-faced  mon- 
sieur on  the  farther  side  of  the  ca- 
briolet, "  are  you  going  to  take  a 
lunar  observation  by  way  of  directing 
us?"  and,  boiling  with  impatience, 
hailed  a  respectable-looking  peasant 
who  was  advancing  towards  them. 
More  fortunate  in  their  present  ap- 
plication, the  pedestrian  offered  them 
the  choice  of  two  roads.  "  One  will 
satisfy  us." — "  Eh  Men,  your  short- 
est lies  across  the  Grere,  which,  at 
low  water,  is  equal  in  strength  to  any 
par^  •  but  at  this  moment  the  tide 
has  not  ebbed  sufficiently  to  permit 
your  passing  till  after  the  gates  are 
shut."—"  Well,  the  other  then?" 
cried  the  charioteer  impatiently. — 
"  Ah  dam!  that  is  not  much  bet- 
ter, for  you  must  make  the  gros 
tour  of  the  Sillon,  the  circuit  of  the 
bay,  the  worst  road  in  all  Brittany  ; 
and  to  look  at  your  beast,  I  much 
doubt  whether  the  animal  will  be 
able  to  drag  you  a  couple  of  leagues 
up  to  the  axle  in  sand." — "  I  do  not," 
replied  the  other ;  "  a  cauchois  will 
get  through  any  thing." — "  Cau- 
chois! cauchois  /"  exclaimed  sneer- 
ingly  his  meagre-faced  companion, 
"  you  would  make  an  excellent  Pa- 
risian cabriolet-driver,  who,  in  prais- 
ing his  horse,  thinks  he  cannot  say 
more  than  il  est  cauchois."  Their 
Cicerone  here  interposed  with  ano- 
ther "  dam,"  an  exclamation  con- 
stantly and  unmeaningly  employed 
by  the  good  Bretons,  in  the  style  of 
the  American  7"  guess,  but  divested 
of  the  blasphemous  attributes  of  its 
relation  on  our  side  of  the  Chan- 
nel. "  Whatever  your  horse  may 
C 


10 


THE   THREE    BROTHERS. 


be  equal  to,  dam!  your  gig,  although 
it  has  apparently  weathered  the  re- 
volution better  than  perhaps  many 
of  its  masters,  will  assuredly  remain 
en  route.  Take  my  advice,  put  up 
your  vehicle,  and  wait  for  the  dili- 
gence from  Rennes,  which  must  be 
here  in  half  an  hour."  To  the  ob- 
servation that  it  ought  to  have  long 
passed,  as  it  left  Rennes  at  three  in 
the  morning,  he  replied:  "  Quite  the 
reverse;  'tis  a  diligence  aVaise,  and 
a  league  an  hour  is  with  them  capi- 
tal travelling:  you  had,  therefore, 
better  wait  for  it,  and  you  may  fetch 
your  cabriolet  to-morrow  morning ; 
although,  dam!  I  doubt  whether  you 
will  find  space  sufficient  to  turn  it  in 
St.  Malo." 

After  some  vivacious  deliberation 
as  to  the  increased  expense,  our  tra- 
vellers determined  to  adopt  the  pro- 
posed plan,  and  commenced  uncord- 
ing their  packages,  which,  in  a  few 
minutes,  were  placed,  with  their  own- 
ers, in  the  salle-a-manger,  cuisine, 
salon,  or  what  you  please  to  term  the 
principal  apartment  of  a  French  ca- 
baret, destined  to  every  purpose,  not 
excluding  sleep.  The  travellers  ap- 
peared each  about  forty,  but  here 
their  resemblance  terminated,  as  M. 
Hyacinthe  Lemaire,  a  wine  -  mer- 
chant, or  rather  keeper  of  a  wine- 
shop at  Nantes,  presented  a  rosy 
full  face,  and  a  corresponding  embon- 
point of  figure:  a  profusion  of  black 
curly  whiskers  gave  no  contemptible 
idea  of  his  martial  appearance,  when, 
as  a  sapeur,  with  a  beard  descending 
to  his  breast,  a  polished  hatchet  on 
his  shoulder,  and  a  white  leather 
apron,  he  headed  a  regiment  of  the 
ex-guard,  throughout  its  glorious 
campaigns.  Whether,  from  his  con- 
tinual connection  with  gunpowder 
and  its  fiery  concomitants,  he  had 


become  impregnated  with  a  supera- 
bundance of  caloric,  I  cannot  state, 
but  certain  it  was,  that  Monsieur 
Hyacinthe  was  never  known  to  com- 
plain of  cold;  on  the  contrary,  even 
in  winter  he  was  hardly  ever  seen 
but  in  a  perspiration.  His  dress 
suited  his  constitution,  and  generally 
consisted,  in  these  peaceable  times, 
of  a  pair  of  trowsers  made  of  thin 
bed-ticking,  a  coat  of  blue  linen,  si- 
milar to  that  used  in  the  manufacture 
of  smock-frocks,  and  a  yellow  Mar- 
seilles waistcoat,  which,  by  innume- 
rable visits  to  the  blanchisseuse,  had 
dwindled  into  a  pale  buff.  In  this 
costume  he  might  be  seen  at  Christ- 
mas, as  at  Midsummer,  with  the 
trifling  difference,  that  at  the  latter 
period  the  waistcoat  and  shirt  were 
invariably  thrown  open.  Cravats, 
nay  even  stockings,  were  seldom  con- 
sidered by  him  as  necessary  portions 
of  apparel ;  and  a  small  straw  hat, 
more  by  way  of  decency  than  use, 
crowned  his  bull's  head,  in  manner 
similar  to  the  worsted  coronet  of  a 
blue-coat  boy.  His  brother  Mathieu, 
who  now  accompanied  him,  present- 
ed another  example  of  the  proverb, 
that  "  extremes  meet."  Without  a 
warlike  particle  in  his  composition, 
he  had,  during  the  reign  of  Napo- 
leon, been  attached  to  the  droits  re- 
utiis;  and  on  the  restoration,  had  ef- 
fected so  sudden  and  so  satisfactory 
a  change  in  his  opinions,  that  he  was 
retained,  as  it  were,  in  his  former 
sphere  as  a  sous-comptrolleur  des 
contributions  indirectes  at  Angers. 
As  meagre  and  pale  as  his  brother 
was  fat  and  rosy,  his  size  appeared 
even  lessened  by  a  faded  olive  great 
coat,  which,  although  worn  in  the 
modern  style,  a  la  Brunswick,  with- 
out a  body-coat  beneath,  was  fully 
capable  of  concealing  the  dozens  of 


THE    THREE    BROTHERS. 


11 


waistcoats  wliich  the  peasant  in  his 
frolic  dispossesses  himself  of  in  the 
ride  of  Astley's  Amphitheatre.  Its 
sleeves  were  of  sufficient  length  to 
preclude  the  necessity  of  a  muff  or 
even  gloves  in  the  severest  weather; 
from  a  continual  junction  of  the  cuffs 
his  hands  were  seldom  perceptible, 
and  it  required  an  affair  of  moment 
to  derange  this  elegant  position.  On 
the  present  journey,  a  black  silk 
nightcap,  saturated  with  grease  and 
perspiration,  was  covered  by  the 
green  leathern  cap  worn  by  most 
artisans  and  mechanics  in  Belgium 
and  many  parts  of  France. 

These  were  the  travellers  who  now 
occupied  the  Hotel  of  the  Three 
Emperors,  a  sign  originating  in  the 
fraternal  greetings  of  Napoleon, 
Francis,  and  Alexander;  but,  since 
the  abdication  of  the  former,  it  would 
require  the  presence  of  the  Empe- 
ror of  Morocco,  or  Iturbide  of  Mex- 
ico, to  complete  the  trio.  Their  bag- 
gage consisted  in  the  civilian's  valise, 
and  two  or  three  cartons,  or  band- 
boxes, appertaining  to  his  brother, 
who,  imagining  that  his  effects  re- 
quired as  little  covering  as  himself, 
had  confided  them  to  the  capricious 
protection  of  pasteboard.  A  chopine 
of  Bourdeauxwas  quickly  demanded 
by  the  soldier,  while  Mathieu,  in- 
veighing against  intemperance,  par- 
ticularly when  travelling,  ordered  a 
glass  of  water,  which  he  qualified  by 
the  addition  of  a  lump  or  two  of  su- 
gar, the  pocketed  remnant  of  their 
breakfast  at  St.  Pierre.  Yielding, 
however,  to  his  brother's  remon- 
strances, that  he  ought  to  give  some 
benefit  to  the  house,  he  called  for  a 
biscuit  or  sponge-calce,  and  over  this 
simple  refreshment  his  mind  wan- 
dered in  forming  estimates  and  ap- 
propriations of  a  relative's  property, 


the  division  of  which  formed  the 
object  of  their  journey.  Monsieur 
Hyacinthe  amused  himself  by  cursing 
the  roads  of  Brittany  between  each 
goblet,  and  fervently  praying  that 
Louis  XVIII.  mightbe  forced,  every 
day  during  the  next  fortnight,  to  tra- 
vel from  Rennes  to  St.  Malo;  an  ex- 
ercise which  he  had  little  doubt 
would  improve  both  his  health  and 
the  roads.  A  rumbling  noise,  simi- 
lar to  distant  thunder,  echoed  by 
repeated  cries  of  "  La  diligence! 
la  diligence  /"  broke  off  these  lu- 
cubrations,  and  summoned  the  bro- 
thers to  the  continuation  of  their 
journey.  'Twas  a  vehicle  well  cal- 
culated for  the  roads,  and  as  un- 
wieldy, in  comparison  with  the  gene- 
rality of  public  conveyances  in 
France,  as  the  latter  when  contrast- 
ed with  those  of  England.  The  ma- 
jority of  its  passengers  had  alighted 
at  St.  Servan,  as  the  respectable 
merchants  of  St.  Malo  have  little  else 
than  their  counting-houses  in  town, 
while  their  menage  generally  occu- 
pies a  campagne  in  the  neighbour- 
hood: this  circumstance,  added  to 
the  influx  of  about  a  thousand  fo- 
reigners, chiefly  from  the  western 
counties  of  England,  has  raised  St. 
Servan  from  a  small  village  to  a  bourg 
of  considerable  importance.  A  fare 
of  twenty  sous  each  was  now  de- 
manded, and  instantly  acceded  to 
on  the  part  of  Hyacinthe;  but  Ma- 
thieu, who  preferred,  as  he  stated, 
the  top  of  the  coach  on  account  of 
the  view,  obtained,  after  much  bar- 
gaining, a  passage  for  half  the  mo- 
ney. "  Allans,  messieurs!  montess, 
monies  /"  cried  the  conducteur,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  machine  began 
ploughing  through  the  sand  its  de- 
scent towards  the  sea,  till  reaching 
that  portion  which  had  been  covered 
C  2 


12 


THE   THREE    BROTHERS. 


at  high-water,  it  rolled  on  as  smooth- 
ly as  the  cars  on  the  Montagues 
Beaujon.  In  the  caisse,  or  the  in- 
,sidc  of  the  'diligence,  Madame  Mar- 
tin, a  shopkeeper's  wife,  betrayed 
immediately  a  particular  regard  for 
the  sapeur,  in  explaining  the  various 
features  of  a  superb  marine  view 
which  then  presented  itself;  the 
town  of  St.  Malo  in  the  centre  of  the 
picture;  its  peninsular  rock  rising 
in  shape  like  a  large  cake  from  the 
sea ;  its  towering  and  perpendicular 
ramparts  forming  the  side  of  the 
bonbon ;  while  the  elliptical  line  of 
chimneys  and  house-tops  might  be 
assimilated  to  a  profusion  of  decora- 
tion, surmounted  by  a  central  orna- 
ment furnished  by  the  dwarf  stee- 
ple of  the  principal  church.  To  the 
right  the  Sillon,  an  extensive  dyke, 
connected  the  town  with  the  conti- 
nent, and  afforded  the  only  road  to 
Normandy,  and  even  to  the  south, 
when  the  inlet,  or  as  it  is  there  term- j 
ed,  the  Greve,  is  impassable.  In  the  j 
late  gales,  the  greater  portion  of  the 
parapet  of  the  dyke  was  washed 
down,  when  a  similar  fate  threatened  j 
the  windmill,  the  only  object  which  ! 
breaks  the  monotonous  line  of  this 
breakwater.  To  the  left  of  the  town, 
the  eye,  in  its  progress  towards  the 
sea,  is  constantly  arrested  by  an  ar- 
chipelago of  rocks  and  forts,  offer- 
ing the  miniature  representation  of  a 
marine  city,  and  rendering  the  har- 
bour difficult  of  access  in  peace  as  in 
war.  This  description  of  madame 
was  soon  interrupted  by  a  hue  and 
cry  after  the  diligence,  proceeding 
from  an  express  from  the  Three  Em- 
perors, who,  on  coming  up  with  the 
conveyance,  peevishly  demanded  one 
.90/  for  the  two  biscuits  with  which 
Mathieuhad  indulged  himself  to  his 
eau  sucrL     The  sous- comptrofflseikr 


had,  however,  fallen  asleep  amidst 
the  straw  of  the  Imperial,  leaving 
the  view,  the  pretended  object  of  his 
elevated  situation,  to  the  enjoyment 
of  the  inside  passengers.  He  was, 
nevertheless,  quickly  made  sensible 
of  his  omission,  and  obliged  to  com- 
ply with  the  demand,  venting  a  curse 
on  the  cupidity  of  the  Bretons  with 
every  Hard  that  he  drew  forth  in  sa- 
tisfaction of  the  claim.  A  warm  al- 
tercation ensued  between  the  bro- 
thers on  this  non-payment,  and  Ma- 
thieu  would  have  chanted  an  end- 
less string  of  variations  on  their  ex- 
tortion, as  he  termed  a  charge  of  li- 
ards,  had  not  the  fumes  from  his  op- 
ponent's pipe,  lighted  at  the  particu- 
lar request  of  madame,  who  ex- 
pressed a  vast  predilection  for  tobac- 
co, in  their  ascent  from  the  window, 
enveloped  his  head  in  smoke,  when- 
ever he  inclined  over  the  roof  to  give 
additional  force  to  his  arguments. 

The  splashing  of  the  horses'  hoofs 
speedily  drew  their  attention  to  the 
expanse  of  water  they  were  now  be- 
ginning to  ford,  and  which,  notwith- 
standing the  serenity  of  the  evening, 
was  considerably  agitated  by  the 
morning  gale.  They  continued  their 
aquatic  progress  for  several  minutes, 
till  the  water  dashed  against  the 
axletrees;  and  yet,  according  to  ma- 
dame, they  were  not  in  the  deepest 
part.  A  row  of  wooden  posts  indi- 
cated their  course,  and  although  of- 
ten an  uncomfortable  passage,  with 
common  prudence,  accidents  were 
barely  possible.  The  saline  fluid, 
nevertheless,  began  oozing  through 
the  crevices  at  the  bottom  of  the 
coach,  and  Hyacinthe,  at  madame's 
request,  bellowed  to  the  conductor 
to  stop.  On  general  consultation,  it 
was  universally  admitted,  that  half 
an  h'var  must  elapse  ere  they  could 


THE    TIIHEE    BROTHERS. 


1;3 


pursue  their  route;  and  the  conduc- 
tor, who  here  acts  equally  as  postil- 
lion, immediately  detaching  one  of 
his  leaders,  returned  to  St.  Servan, 
leaving  the  diligence,  its  three  pas- 
sengers and  horses,  half  sects  over, 
to  amuse  themselves  in  such  manner 
as  they  might  think  fit.  The  lofty 
situation  of  the  Imperialist  began,  in 
his  opinion,  now  to  lose  much  of  its 
attraction.  Disturbed  in  a  comfort- 
able nap,  and  fatigued  with  bawling 
after  the  conductor,  who,  in  a  few 
minutes,  was  seen  galloping  on  shore, 
a  fit  of  shivering  attacked  him,  that 
obliged  him  to  request  his  brother 
to  permit  and  assist,  by  opening  the 
door,  his  descent  from  the  roof  into 
the  body  of  the  machine.  A  few 
formal  civilities  followed  his  entrance, 
till  madame,  anxious  to  learn  the 
object  of  their  journe)',  offered  the 
services  of  herself  and  of  Monsieur 
Martin  in  any  commercial  affairs  they 
might  have  to  transact  at  St.  Malo. 
"  We  have  no  commercial  business 
there,"  exclaimed  Mathieu  peevish- 
ly.— "  Oh  !  you  are  of  course  then 
about  to  embark  for  the  West  In- 
dies?"— "Neither.  I  have  enough 
salt  water  at  present  to  satisfy  me 
for  my  life-time."  Madame  paused, 
and  while  planning  the  continuation 
of  her  interrogatory,  Hyacinthe,  in 
spite  of  repeated  hints  from  his  bro- 
ther, gratuitously  informed  her,  that 
they  were  journeying  to  St.  Malo  in 
consequence  of  the  death  of  a  bro- 
ther, whom  about  that  time  they  had 
expected  to  have  shaken  hands  with. 
Unfortunately,  on  his  return  from 
Guadaloupe  he  had  fallen  overboard, 
and  they  had  received  notice  to  meet 
his  correspondent  at  St.  Malo,  with 
the  view  of  coming  to  some  settle- 
ment in  regard  to  his  property,  esti- 
mated at  perhaps  100,000  francs. 
"  Bah!"  cried  Mathieu  angrily,  "  pro- 


bably not  half  the  money." — "  Fifty 
or  a  hundred,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  I 
had  much  rather  be  on  my  journey 
to  meet  him  alive."  Mathieu  was 
evidently  screwing  up  his  mouth  for 
some  sarcastic  reply,  but  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  lady  requesting  the 
name  of  their  correspondent.  "  I 
have  his  letter  with  me,"  replied  Hy- 
acinthe, who  forthwith  began  analyz- 
ing a  mass  of  torn  and  dirty  docu- 
ments, many  of  which  had  been  im- 
memorial tenants  of  the  pocket  of  his 
linen  coatee.  "  Were  papers  ever 
kept  in  such  disorder?"  ejaculated 
his  brother:  "  passports,  bills  of  ex- 
change, and  bills  of  the  play,  all 
alike,  and  as  a  bit  of  paper,  by  him 
equally  preserved." — "  Here  it  is, 
nevertheless,  and  I  request  you  will 
read  it,  as  I  have  packed  up  my 
spectacles  in  one  of  the  bandboxes:" 
but  the  tax-gatherer,  anxious  to  avoid 
any  exposure  of  his  personal  affairs, 
excused  himself,  alleging  that,  as  the 
evening  was  far  advanced,  he  might 
spoil  his  eyes.  Madame,  however, 
unwilling  to  let  slip  any  opportunity 
of  gratifying  her  curiosity,  instantly 
offered  her  sen  ices,  and  read  as  fol- 
lows : 

St.  Malo,  Sept.  — ,  182— . 

To  Messrs.  Hyacinthe  and 
Mathieu  Bernard. 
Gentlemen, 

I  inform  you  that  your  brother, 
M.  Adolphe  Lemaire,  was  accidentally 
drowned  on  his  passage  from  Guadaloupe 
to  this  port.  As  I  have  become  the  de- 
positary of  his  papers  and  property 
(about  100,000  francs),  I  invite  you  to 
repair  to  this  town  on  this  day  fortnight 
—  ["  Namely,  to-morrow,"  interrupted 
Hyacinthe] — as  particular  business  re- 
quires my  presence  at  a  neighbouring 
port  till  that  period. 

Accept  the  assurances  of  my  high  con- 
sideration, and  believe  me, 

Etienne  pe  Vallery. 


14 


THE    THREE    BROTHERS. 


"  All,  messieurs,  you  have  here 
one  of  the  first  houses  in  St.  Malo. 
M.  de  Vallery  will  do  you  justice — 
impossible  to  be  in  better  hands."  In 
refolding  and  returning  the  letter,  it 
seemed  as  if  madaine  had  something- 
farther  to  insinuate,  which  she  hesi- 
tated to  express.  Hyacinthe  urged 
her  to  favour  them  with  any  farther 
information,  assuring  her  how  grate- 
ful he  felt  already  for  her  courtesy. 
"  It  is  not  that  I  can  be  of  any  far- 
ther assistance  to  you;  but,  sir,  you 
have  it  in  your  power  to  render  me 
a  most  essential  service." — "  Com- 
mand me,  madame,"  cried  the  wine- 
merchant  in  all  his  military  gallantry. 
"  You  appear  an  admirer  of  tobac- 
co, sir;  so  is  my  husband:  but  the 
trash  that  we  get  at  St.  Malo  is  a 
disgrace  to  the  government,  who,  ne- 
vertheless, oblige  us  to  give  up,  at  a 
certain  rate,  every  leaf  we  cultivate, 
and  then,  after  undergoing  God 
knows  what  preparation,  a  miserable 
compound  is  retailed  at  the  debits 
de  tabac,  which  would  quickly  cure 
any  penchant  for  smoking;  and  mes- 
sieurs the  douaniers  are  so  strict, 
that  the  introduction  of  a  better  sort 
is  a  matter  of  difficulty.  Might  I 
request  you  to  take  a  few  hands  of 
leaves  in  your  pocket?  They  seldom 
or  ever  search  the  person  of  a  tra- 
veller, and  if  they  do,  the  quantity 
will  be  so  small  as  to  preclude  any- 
unpleasant  consequences." — "  With 
the  greatest  pleasure,"  replied  the 
son  of  Mars,  whose  acme  of  glory  in 
these  peaceable  days  consisted  in 
cheating  an  exciseman  or  any  officer 
of  the  Bourbon  government.  "  You 
see,  sir,"  continued  Madame  Martin, 
"  I  am  fully  provided;"  and  opening 
her  pelisse,  discovered  some  hun- 
dreds of  leaves  falling  from  the  waist, 
in  the  maimer  of  a  Peruvian  kilt,  and 


sufficient  for  a  twelvemonth's  con- 
sumption of  no  ordinary  smoker. 
Taking  a  farther  quantity  from  a 
small  basket,  she  turned  to  Mathieu, 
who  had  remained  a  passive  but  at- 
tentive observer,  and  begged  to  know 
whether  she  might  also  trouble  him, 
remarking,  that  he  had  sufficient 
space  to  conceal  a  myriagramme, 
without  the  remotest  chance  of  de- 
tection. "  I  never  defraud  the  re- 
venue," growled  the  cynic  in  reply  ; 
but  after  a  few  moments'  reflection, 
he  consented,  out  of  regard  for  his 
brother,  to  take  a  small  portion.  Ma- 
dame Martin  had  completed  the  par- 
tial transfer  of  her  property,  when, 
uttering  a  loud  shriek,  she  gathered 
together  the  remaining  leaves  with 
the  utmost  precipitation.  Hyacinthe 
raised  his  eyes  and  beheld  at  the  win- 
dow the  face  of  his  deceased  bro- 
ther. The  features  of  the  phantom 
were  somewhat  different  from  what 
he  recollected  them  at  their  separa- 
tion, but  a  fiery  atmosphere  which 
enveloped  the  head  left  no  doubt  in 
his  mind  of  a  supernatural  agency. 
He  could  only  exclaim,  "  'Tis  he! 
'tis  he !"  and  sunk  back  in  the  coach. 
The  attentions  of  Mathieu,  who  was 
ignorant  of  the  cause  of  this  scene, 
from  having  at  the  first  alarm  sought 
the  other  window,  assisted  by  the 
lady's  jiacon  of  eau  de  Cologne,  suc- 
ceeded shortly  in  producing  a  copi- 
ous perspiration,  which  afforded 
considerable  relief.  With  his  looks 
still  bent  on  the  window,  he  could 
for  some  time  only  articulate,  "  My 
brother!"  and  the  anxiety  of  madame 
for  his  recovery  made  her  forget 
for  the  moment  her  fears  of  having 
been  surprised,  and  information  laid 
at  the  custom-house  by  the  indivi- 
dual whose  impertinent  curiosity  had 
been  the  cause  of  her  shriek.    'Twas 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF    WEST    MILL. 


15 


long  ere  Hyacinthe  could,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  assure  them  that  he  had 
beheld  the  figure  of  his  brother  who 
had  recently  been  drowned.  "  Bah !" 
cried  Mathieu,  "  your  expectations 
of  his  property  have  turned  your 
brain :  but  at  any  rate,  do  not  in  fu- 
ture vaunt  the  courage  so  much, 
■which  trembles  at  the  sight  of  a  dou- 
anier;  for  I  have  no  doubt  Madame 
Martins  suspicions  are  better  found- 
ed."— "  There  are  no  custom-house 
officers  where  he  is,"  was  all  Hya- 
cinthe's  reply,  and,  heaving  a  deep 
sigh,  he  mustered  resolution  to  look 
out  in  search  of  the  vision;  but  the 


sun  had  just  set,  and  a  fog  was  steal- 
ing over  the  waters,  which  by  this 
time  had  considerably  abated:  a 
horse's  step  at  length  caught  his  ear, 
and  after  straining  his  eyeballs,  the 
return  of  their  conductor  replunged 
him  into  a  profound  melancholy,  and 
relieved  the  rest  of  the  party  from 
their  unpleasant  situation.  To  the 
various  inquiries,  whether  he  had 
heard  or  seen  any  thing  pass  the  wa- 
ter, he  declared  it  almost  impossible. 
A  few  minutes  now  carried  them  on 
to  dry  land,  and  soon  after  they  drew 
up  at  the  gate  of  St.  Malo. 
(To  be  continued.) 


RECOLLECTIONS 

Of  West  Mill,  Foxearth,  in  the  County  of  Essex,  the  Residence  of  Robert 
Lanchester,  Esq.  and  its  immediate  Vicinity.  Written  in  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember 1822. 

By  J.  M.  Lacey. 


Mem'ry!  I  court  thy  power,  thy  wondrous 

pow'r, 
That  takes  us  back  to  any  by-gone  hour; 
To  any  scene,  or  terrible  or  fair, 
Oue  instant  of  thy  influence  brings  us  there : 
Then  aid  me,    Mem'ry,  while  my  pen  shall 

trace 
Each  recollection  of  a  well-lov'd  place, 
Where  I  have  linger'dmany  a  happy  day, 
Call'd  anddetain'd  by  Friendship's  charmful 

sway. 
And  first,  the  house,  of  plain  and  simple 

form, 
Yet  modern,  and  defying  every  storm 
Without,  while  all  within  of  comfort  tells; 
Its    style    appears   to   say,    u  Here   plenty 

dwells." 
And  then  its  inmates:   if  a  strife  they  find, 
'Tis  how  they  best  shall  welcome,  best  be 

kind  ; 
And  with  unwearied  zeal,  beyond  controul, 
Feast  not  the  body  only,  but  the  soul. 

The  garden,  stretching  by  the  river's  side, 
Its  choice  fruits  hanging  o'er  the  gentle  tide, 
Invites  the  mind,  where  poesy  has  pow'r, 
To  thought,  while  loit'ring  in  the  leafy  bow'r; 
Or,    in    bright  youth  with  beauty   there   to 

rove, 
Might  teach  a  Stoic's  heart  the  pow'r  of  love; 


Or,    if  deep  sorrow   had    destroy'd    man's 

peace, 
Here  Contemplation's    calm  might    bid   it 

cease, 
If  but  Religion  came  with  balmy  pow'r, 
To  bless  the  thoughtful,  solitary  hour. 
I  need  not  here  describe  its  plants,  its  roots, 
Its  fish-pond,  or  its  trees,    its   flow'rs,   its 

fruits  ; 
Useful  and  sweet  indeed  they  were  to  me, 
As  oft  I  wateh'd  the  curious,  busy  bee 
Seeking   its  hive  with   far-fetch'd    honeyed 

store, 
Or  leaving  it,  again  to  gather  more. 

Wonderful  insect!   teaching  still  to  man 
How  insignificant  his  mightiest  plan, 
When  close  compar'd  witli  labours  such  as 

thine, 
Who  buildest  without  compass,  rule,  or  line, 
Beginning  at  the  top  thy  wondrous  dome, 
And  working  downwards   till  complete  tliy 

home; 
Filling  each  waxen  cell  with  nectar  sweet, 
Which  cruel   man  forbids  that  you   should 

eat : 
He,  when  autumnal,   flow'rless  hours  shall 

come, 
With   sulph'rous  fires   will   visit  thy   sweet 

home, 


Id 


RECOLLECTIONS    OE    WEST    MILL. 


Doom  a  whole  race  to  death,  and  take  thy 

store, 
To  give  his  appetite  one  lux'ry  more ! 

The  lazy  Stour,  that  winding-  creeps  along 
In  serpentine  seclusion,  wakes  the  song 
From  me,  an  angler,  who  has  dar'd  to  hlame 
Others  for  cruelty,  yet  seeks  his  game 
."Beneath  the  surface  o?  the  silver  tide, 
And  finds  in  it  a  pleasure  and  a  pride: 
.Such  is  weak  man,   to  his  own  failings  blind, 
But  prone  another's  fancied  faults  to  find. 

Yet,  gentle  Stour,  along  thy  grassy  bank, 
Fring'd  with  the  salix,  and  with  wild  weeds 

rank, 
I've  wander'd   many  an  hour,   with  rod  and 

line, 
Mature  and  silent  contemplation  mine  ; 
Have  gaz'd  upon  the  distant  wood-crown'd 

hill, 
Where  stood    the  farm-house  or  the   busy 

mill; 
Or  watch'd  the  shepherd  at  the  upland  fold, 
Where  lately  wnv'd  a  crop  of  living  gold; 
Till  on  the  zephyr's  breath  was  gently  borne 
The  distant  summons  of  the  signal  horn, 
Warning   me,    that   the    mid-day   meal  was 

spread, 
When  homeward  I  return'd  with  hasty  tread. 
At  other  times  a  walk  was  deemed  good, 
rcrehance    an     up-hill    stroll   to    Aldham's 

wood, 
Which    rears    on    high   its    green   fantastic 

crown, 
And  seems  to  look  majestically  down 
On  all  the  beauteous  vale  that  spreads  below, 
When  lighted  up  by  morning's  fervid   glow. 
Here,  at  its  highest  point,    I've  paus'd    to 

gaze, 
Sercen'd   by  an  oak  from  Sol's    too  potent 

blaze, 
And  sent  my  fancy  forth  along  the  vale, 
As  wild  and  blithesome  as  the  summer  gale. 
There,  Fancy  said,  nor  want  nor  woe  can  be  ; 
So  sweet  a  spot  from  sickness  must  be  free  : 
Here  man's  worst  passions   ne'er  can  find  a 

home; 
Where  so  much  peace  prevails,  crime  cannot 

come ! 
Alas  !  Truth  dissipated  Fancy's  thought, 
And  in  a  whisper,  with  conviction  fraught, 
Shew'd   me  that  man,  where'er  he  rears  his 

cot, 
Will  soon  or  late  find  mingled  with  his  lot, 
All  that  my  fancy  with  delight  so  keen, 
Had  deein'd  could  never  visit  such  n  scene. 
Another  day,  a  ride  was  thought  the  best 
To  break  the  tedium  of  too  long  a  rest; 
for  gentle  exe-rciM-  we  ever  find 
Invigorates  the  body  and  the  mind. 


Gives  to  the  stomach  all  its  healthful  play, 

And  drives  the  demon  ennui  away. 

But  our    best  ride  was   that  when    Sunday 

came, 
The  day  of  rest  and  peace,  whose  holy  claim 
Alike  should  call  the  affluent  and  the  poor 
To  seek  with  humbleness  the  sacred  door, 
Whether  of  village  church  with  lowly  tow'r, 
Or   proud   cathedral   rcar'd    by    pomp    and 

pow'r; 
There  to  pour  forth  in  penitence  and  pray'r 
Their  inmost  hearts  for  God's   all-gracious 

care. 
Foxcarth !  thy  humble  fane  has  no   vain 

show, 
To  bid  the  mind  extraneous  feelings  know  ; 
No  fretted  roof,  no  painted  windows  smile, 
No  gaudy  gildings  decorate  the  aisle  ; 
No  pictur'd  altar-piece  is  found,  to  share 
With    God's    commandments   ev'ry    idler's 

stare. 
The  congregation  comes  not  there  to  gaze,  . 
Cut  to  put  up  its  mingled  pray'rs  and  praise  ; 
To  hear  from  one,  who  in  his   secret  soul 
Appears   to  feel   the    Godhead's  great  con- 

troul ; 
From  one,   whose  life  from  vice  and    envy 

free, 
Is  what  a  pastor's  life  should  ever  be  ; 
The  gospel,  word  of  love,   and   grace  and 

peace, 
That  bids  all  ruder  passions  sink  and  cease. 
So  have  I  heard,  and  better'd  by  the  theme, 
Have  gone  away,  of  higher  tilings  to  dream, 
Than  earth's  bright  baubles  and   intruding 

care, 
Which  all,  the  had,  the  good,  the  great  must 

share. 
Nor  shall  the  singers  pass  without  a  line: 
What  though  no  brilliautsemiquavers  shine 
The  lowly  troop  of  choristers  among, 
Nor  organ,  trumpet-tongued,  help  out  their 

song, 
Their  humble  hymn  of  praise,  to  give  it  zest; 
Let  letter  singers  think  these  do  their  best; 
And,  let  me  ask,  what  more  could  Br  aha  m  do, 
Or  all  the  tone-dividing,  trilling  crew  ? 
This  may  offend  the  ear  where  taste  is  giv'n, 
But  is  as  welcome  at  the  throne  of  heav'n. 
But   ere    I   cease,    let    Foxearth's   simple- 
street, 
Its  cottages  so  plain,  and  jret  so  neat, 
Their  gardens   stretching   to  the   pathway's 

side, 
Gardens  that  seem  to  be  their  owners'  pride, 
With  graceful  poplars  nodding  o'er  the  way  ; 
All  these  in  Fancy's  ear  full  plainly  say, 
That  much  of  comfort,  'mid  domestic  eare, 
With,  all  their  poverty  these  people  share: 


REMARKS   ON    THE    POPULAR    PREJUDICES    AGAINST   OLD    MAIDS. 


17 


Otic  reason  is,  that  search  the  parish  round, 
No  inn  nor  humbler  alehouse  will  be  found. 
West  .Mill,  farewell!  friends  of  my  heart, 

adieu ! 
In    London's  crowded    haunts  I'll   think  of 

you; 


Think  of  your  scenes  of  peace,  your  quiet 

hours, 
Your  gentle  stream,  and  all  its  leafy  bow'rs  ; 
Your  friends,  your  church,  your  preacher's 

pious  strain, 
And  not  without  a  hope  to  see  them  all  again. 


REMARKS    ON    THE    POPULAR    PREJUDICES    AGAINST 

OLD  MAIDS. 


There  is  scarcely  a  character  in 
life  which  has  been  so  much  the  sub- 
ject of  illiberal  animadversion  as  that 
of  an  old  maid.  It  has  been  the  ob- 
ject at  which  contempt  hath  ever 
pointed  the  finger,  vulgarity  the  jest, 
and  wit  its  sarcasm. 

That  a  proportion  of  those  who 
come  under  this  denomination  have 
presented  but  too  fair  a  mark  for 
the  attack,  it  is  not  attempted  to  be 
denied.  Praise  or  censure,  however, 
when  applied  to  any  particular  cast 
or  description  of  persons,  is  too  in- 
discriminate to  be  just  in  its  applica- 
tion to  many  individuals  of  it;  and 
this  observation  applies,  with  pecu- 
liar force,  to  the  subject  of  the  fol- 
lowing remarks. 

Did  we  but  use  half  the  diligence 
in  finding  out  the  excellences  of  those 
around  us  which  we  employ  in  scru- 
tinizing their  defects,  in  how  many 
instances  might  we  trace  a  life  of  ce- 
libacy to  motives  and  principles  which 
should  excite  rather  our  admiration 
and  applause,  than  censure  or  con- 
tempt !  Much  has  been  said  of  the 
fickleness  of  woman's  disposition,  but 
examples  of  constancy  the  most  de- 
voted are  by  no  means  rare  among 
them;  and  how  numerous  are  the  in- 
stances of  women  who,  having  once 
fixed  their  affections,  have  known  no 
second  love!  Untoward  circumstan- 
ces may  have  divided  her  from  the 
object  of  her  regard ;  parental  autho- 
rs. II  No.  VII. 


rity  may  have  forbidden  their  union ; 
the  chill  blast  of  poverty  may  have 
passed  over  them ;  but  though  it  wi- 
ther the  blossom  of  her  love,  it  cannot 
destroy  the  tree,  for  that  is  rooted  in 
her  heart.  Finally,  perhaps  the  grave 
opens  between  them,  and  the  being 
she   most  loved   is   become  as  the 
"  clod  of  the  valley."     But  this  does 
not  change  her;  his  memory  is  still 
cherished,  though  its  nourishment  be 
tears.     The  idea  of  another  filling 
his   place  is   a  kind  of  profanation 
from  which  her  mind  revolts.     No, 
her  feelings  are  changed  in  name  on- 
ly; they   are    essentially   the   same, 
springing  from  the  same  source,  and 
pointing  to  the  same  object,  which 
still  exists,  although  in  another  re- 
gion.    Let  the  opponents  of  the  doc- 
i  trine  of  a  future  state  say  what  they 
j  may,  the  ideas  of  death  and  annihila- 
I  tionarenot  naturally  associates  in  the 
human  breast,  and  in  none  less  than 
i  in  that  of  affection  mourning  over  its 
departed  object.     The  anticipation 
of  a  meeting  hereafter  is  still  cherish- 
ed, and  although  that  hope  will  be 
vague  or  definite,  in  proportion  as 
the  mind  which  indulges  it  is  im- 
bued with  religion,  it  still  exists,  and 
in  sufficient  force  to  preclude  the  de- 
spair consequent  upon  worldly  losses 
and  disappointments  of  any  other  na- 
ture. 

Another  case  may  be  cited  as  not 
improbable,  although,  it  may  be  urg- 
D 


IB 


REMARKS   ON    THE    POPULAR    PREJUDICES    AGAINST   OLD    MAIDS. 


ed,  of  rare  occurrence.  A  woman, 
possessed  of  the  finest  and  most  deli- 
cate feelings,  may  have  placed  her 
affections  on  one  who  may  not  return 
them,  and  that  so  strongly,  that  the 
conviction  of  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  her  love  may  not  annihilate  it.  She 
is  too  generous  and  too  amiable  to 
entertain  either  envy  or  jealousy,  in- 
habitants only  of  little  minds.  This 
is  a  case  combining  all  the  wretched- 
ness of  the  preceding  one,  without 
any  of  its  consolation.  The  heart- 
sickening  anguish  of  "  hope  defer- 
red" falls  infinitely  short  of  this.  In 
what  a  variety  of  instances,  were  the 
truth  known,  might  to  such  a  cause 
be  traced  the  pale  cheek  and  the 
wasted  form,  which  have  baffled  the 
skill  of  the  physician,  who  knew  not 
that  the  disease  was  seated  in  her 
"  heart  of  hearts," — "  mcdicab'dh 
?udlis  fierbis," 

It  is  with  shame  and  a  blush  for  my 
own  sex  that  I  add  another  case,  I 
fear  of  more  frequent  occurrence  than 
either  of  the  former.  A  woman  may 
have  yielded  her  heart  to  one  whom 
she  imagined  to  be  all  that  was  ex- 
cellent and  amiable  in  man.  She 
may  have  exalted  him  into  the  very 
idol  of  her  heart,  loving  him  with  all 
a  woman's  fondness,  and  trusting  him 
with  all  that  generous  confidence 
that  characterizes  a  virtuous  woman's 
love.  He  proves  unworthy  of  her 
affection,  lie  slights  her  in  the  wan- 
tonness of  a  fickle  heart,  or,  in  the 
baseness  of  a  sordid  one,  he  quits 
her  for  another.  It  is  true,  she  casts 
from  her  the  viper  which  the  warmth 
of  her  bosom  had  fostered,  but  the 
venom  of  its  tooth  is  yet  rankling  in 
her  heart.  It  has  been  asserted  of 
the  females  who  form  the  subject  of 
this  paper,  (hat  they  are  railers 
against  the  other  sex.     Ought  it,  1 


would  ask,  to  excite  either  our  cen- 
sure or  surprise,  if  a  woman,  in  the 
bitterness  of  such  a  disappointment, 
or  in  the  remembrance  of  it,  which 
would  accompany  her  to  the  tomb, 
condemn  the  whole  sex  for  the  in- 
jury she  has  sustained  from  one? 
"  Ex  uno  disce  btntie&"  is  a  motto 
which  we  are  but  too  ready  in  ap- 
plying to  the  class  to  which  she  be- 
longs, and  she  may  with  equal  justice 
apply  it  to  us. 

Now,  in  each  or  any  of  these  cases, 
it  may  happen  that,  however  keen 
their  mental  sufferings  may  be,  a  na- 
tural strength  of  constitution  may 
have  protracted  them  to  advanced 
years ;  but  the  feelings  which  reflect- 
ed honour  on  their  youth  are  equally 
honourable  to  their  age :  for  it  is  a 
new  doctrine,  that  the  permanency  of 
a  good  motive  or  principle  detracts 
from  the  valup  or  the  merit  of  it. 

It  is  often  asserted,  that  celibacy 
among  women  is  attributable  either 
to  an  insensibility  to  the  passion  in 
themselves,  or  the  inability  to  excite 
it  in  others:  of  many  this  may  he  true, 
but  the  foregoinc;  cases  would  so  far 
to  prove,  that  the  same  effect  is  often 
produced  by  the  very  opposite  cause. 

With  regard  to  the  general  ridi- 
cule or  reproach  which  appears  to 
attach  to  the  class  of  women  who  are 
styled"  old  maids,"  it  may  be  true  of 
them,  as  it  is  of  many  other  descrip- 
tions of  persons,  that  the  bad  conduct 
of  a  few  has  brought  disgrace  upon 
the  many;  and  in  endeavouring  to  de- 
pict one  of  such  individuals,  I  shall 
not  make  any  selection  either  from 
the  old  or  the  ugly. 

Has  the  reader  never  seen  a  being 
of  the  class  of  "  old  maids"  on  whose 
face  the  traces  of  departed  beauty  yet 
linger,  and  on  whose  clouded  brow 
the  tempest  of  ungoverned  passion, 


Rl'-.MAUKS    ON    THE    POPULAR    PREJUDICES    AGAINST    OLD    MAIDS. 


19 


or  the  habitual  indulgence  of  ill-hu- 
mour, has  planted  many  an  untimely 
furrow?  Take  her  history  from  me. 
Nature  had  bestowed  upon  her  all 
those  external  graces  which  in  wo- 
man are  so  attractive,  and  which, 
having  early  discovered  the  power  of 
them,  she  resolved  to  bring,  in  the 
true  mercantile  sense  of  the  word,  to 
the  best  market. 

Possessed  of  a  cold  heart,  she 
could  coquet  without  danger,  and  in 
the  course  of  her  gay  but  calculating 
pursuit  had  slighted  or  betrayed 
many  a  fond  heart  that  would  have 
truly  loved  her.  But  love  was  not 
the  commodity  for  which  she  sought; 
a  suitor's  purse,  and  not  his  merit, 
was  thrown  into  the  scale  against  her 
own  imagined  value ;  and,  vanity  be- 
ing always  ready  with  the  false  ba- 
lance, they  were  weighed,  and  ever 
found  wanting.  As  a  natural  conse- 
quence, to  use  a  homely  but  most 
appropriate  phrase,  she  overstood 
her  market.  Her  charms  after  a 
time  began  to  fade,  but  it  was  long 
ere  she  made  the  discovery:  her  mir- 
ror, like  the  prophetess  of  the  devot- 
ed city,  though  it  spoke  the  truth, 
was  not  believed ;  nor  was  she  awak- 
ened to  a  sense  of  the  decline  of  her 
once  boasted  beauty,  until  the  fail- 
ure of  the  attentions  and  admira- 
tion which  followed  it  indicated  the 
change.  A  few  ineffectual  attempts 
were  made  to  regain  the  homage 
she  had  lost.  Art  was  resorted  to 
where  nature  had  failed;  the  man- 
ners and  the  dress  of  her  youthful 
days  were  affected;  but  every  arti- 
fice was  over,  and  the  faded  beauty 
was  neglected  by  all.  To  mix  in  the 
gay  circles  where  she  once  reigned  II 
with  such  absolute  sway  is  now  but 
to  encounter  mortification  and  defeat,  j 
She  finds  the  glittering  toys  which  it 


has  been  the  grand  employment  of 
her  life  to  secure,  and  to  which  she 
eagerly  clung  to  the  last,  one  by  one 
elude  her  grasp,  and  she  is  left  a 
lone  being  in  the  world,  without  one 
mental  resource  or  a  single  valuable 
friend.  Sympathy  she  finds  none. 
The  shafts  of  ridicule  and  satire  fly 
fast  and  thick  around  her,  and  no 
one  pities  her.  She  has  the  addition- 
al mortification  of  beholding  many  of 
her  acquaintance,  the  humility  of 
whose  views  she  once  despised,  the 
mothers  of  happy  families.  This 
excites  her  envy,  and  when  envy  en- 
ters the  bosom,  hatred,  malice,  and 
all  uncharitableness  but  too  quickly 
follow.  Having  now  no  motives  or 
inducement  for  restraining  or  con- 
cealing them,  her  naturally  violent 
passions  and  untoward  temper  break 
forth,  and  all  around  her  are  her 
prey.  Woe  to  the  unhappy  being 
whom  fortune  has  made  dependent 
upon  her  bounty,  or  subject  to  her 
controul!  Busy  to  discover,  and  ea- 
ger to  magnify,  the  errors  and  im- 
perfections of  others,  a  tale  of  scan- 
dal, or  the  story  of  "  an  erring  sis- 
ter's shame,"  is  the  highest  gratifi- 
cation to  her  malevolent  heart.  In  a 
word,  she  lives  a  plague  to  her  rela- 
tives, a  nuisance  to  her  neighbours,  a 
scourge  to  her  servants,  and  a  tor- 
ment to  herself. 

That  such  characters,  hideous  as 
is  the  picture,  do  exist,  there  is  but 
too  little  reason  to  doubt;  but,  while 
we  pray  they  may  be  £e\v,  we  have 
the  consolation  of  knowing  that  there 
are  others,  who,  coming  under  the 
same  general  denomination  of  old 
maids,  are  as  amiable  as  these  are 
the  reverse ;  and  from  my  own  expe- 
rience I  will  appeal  to  that  of  others, 
and  inquire  if,  when  they  look  around 
them,  thev  do  not  behold  many  of 
D  % 


20 


WORCESTER    IN    1823. 


this  class  of  females  exercising  all 
the  charities  of  life,  administering  to 
the  wants  of  the  necessitous,  as  if, 
having  no  families  of  their  own,  they 
had  adopted  those  of  the  poor  and 
the  friendless. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  apply  to 
this  subject  a  rule  equally  applicable 
to  many  others  in  which  popular  pre- 
judice is  concerned;  namely,  that  we 


should  never  judge  of  any  particular 
class  or  denomination  of  persons,  by 
the  conduct  of  one  or  two  individu- 
als who  form  part  of  it,  or  of  indivi- 
duals by  the  class  to  which  they  be- 
long; but  to  estimate  every  man  <per 
se,  without  reference  to  his  nation, 
rank,  or  profession,  or  to  any  other 
circumstance  equally  beyond  his  con- 
troul.  W.II.H. 


WORCESTER  in  1823. 


You  wish,  my  dear  Tarleton,  that 
I  would  give  you  some  account  of 
Worcester;  and  tell  me  that,  rattle 
as  I  am,  I  must  have  seen  as  much 
of  it  in  three  months,  as  some  would 
in  seven  years :  I  therefore  attempt 
to  gratify  you  in  as  brief  a  manner 
as  I  can,  although  such  a  task  re- 
quires all  my  resolution  to  achieve  it. 

If  you  enter  Worcester  from  the 
London  road  as  I  did,  and  on  a  wet 
day,  you  will  wish  yourself  once 
more  in  our  great  city :  but  if  you 
come  from  Malvern,  cest  tout  autre 
chose;  you  then  arrive  at  this  city 
through  a  charming  broad  turnpike 
road,  over  a  very  handsome  stone 
bridge;  but  the  magnificent  hills  of 
Malvern  will  be  behind  you.  You 
will,  however,  view  the  fine  cathe- 
dral, injured  indeed  in  appearance, 
as  it  seems  to  rise  from  a  row  of  red 
houses :  on  the  left  is  the  elegant  tall 
spire  of  St.  Andrew's,  surrounded  by 
various  other  church-steeples:  you 
then  enter  a  handsome  street  called 
Bridge-street,  and  thence  proceeding 
to  the  High  and  Foregate-street,  you 
are  in  the  city  of  Worcester.  If  the 
visit  be  on  a  Saturday,  or  in  the  hop 
season,  you  may  almost  fancy  your- 
self in  Cheapside. 

The  principal  lions  in  Worcester 
are  the  cathedral  and  the  porcelain- 


works.  The  cathedral  is  in  the 
pointed  style  of  architecture;  C.  will 
not  let  me  call  it  Gothic,  so  great  an 
enthusiast  is  he  in  that  style  of  build- 
ing. It  is  kept  in  what  I  thought 
capital  order,  being  thoroughly  neat 
and  clean ;  but  again  C.  objects  to 
this:  he  says,  that  in  whitewashing 
the  building  so  frequently,  much  of 
the  beautiful  tracery  and  the  finest 
mouldings  are  injured;  and  I  dare 
say  he  is  right.  Well,  and  what 
does  he  gain  by  it?  Why,  he  grum- 
bled all  the  time  we  were  going  over 
the  building,  while  I  was  delighted. 
I  attended  there  also  on  Sunday  last, 
and  can  bear  witness  to  the  order  and 
decorum  which  was  observed  during 
the  whole  of  the  service,  even  to  the 
singing-boys,  one  of  whom  brought 
me  a  book  as  soon  as  I  entered ;  and 
this  attention  C.  said  it  was  that  has 
made  me  the  eulogist  of  this  place. 
It  cost  our  friend  Brevet  half-a-crown 
on  his  entrance:  he  went  with  his 
military  boots  on,  consequently  spur- 
red, when  an  urchin  in  a  white  sur- 
plice told  him  he  must  pay  him  a 
forfeit.  B.  applied  to  the  verger, 
but  it  is  a  custom  here,  which  the 
young  rogue  who  claimed  the  fine 
insisted  upon,  and  he  ran  off  with  his 
boot}',  for  the  voluntary  was  com- 
mencing. 


WORCESTER    IN    1823. 


21 


Here  is  an  exquisite  monument  by 
Roubillac  to  the  momory  of  Bishop 
Hough,  which  forms  of  itself  a  host 
of   attraction.      He   is   represented 
rising  from  a  sarcophagus,  his  hands 
clasped,  and  his  eyes  raised  towards 
heaven.     It  is  a  great  pity,  as  C.  says, 
that  any  thing  unholy  in  art  is  per- 
mitted to  come  near  it,  for  it  is  in  the 
grandest  style  of  art.     Independent 
of  blubbering  boys,  there  are  indeed 
one  or  two  sad  abortions  of  art,  whose 
only  apology  seems  to  be,  that  they 
are  executed  by  native  artists,  one 
in  particular,  where  is  represented  a 
lady  seated.     This  is  equal  to  that 
by  Roubillac,  but  only  in  its  size. 
There  is,  however,  a  very  respecta- 
ble monument  to  the  memory  of  Sir 
Thomas  Street,  by  Wilton.     I  had 
nearly  forgotten  one  or  two  rather 
pretty  things  by  the  younger  Bacon, 
one  lately  erected  to  the  memory  of 
Colonel  Ellis:    but  this  is  nothing, 
where   the   finger   of   Roubillac    is 
seen  on  the  wall.     Gallant  soldiers 
falling  into  the  arms  of  a  lady  called 
Victory,  or   Mesdames    Glory   and 
Concord  weaving  wreaths,  are  but 
feeble  personifications.     The   tomb 
of  our  King  John,  whose  figure  is  so 
ably  depicted  in  poor  Stothard's  mo- 
numental effigies,  lies  near  the  com- 
munion-table in  the  cathedral,  and 
will  much  interest  you,  if  you  view  it 
as  I  did,  warm   from  the  novel  of 
Ivanhoe :   nor   must   the   cathedral 
pulpit  be  forgotten. 

But  come,  let  us  leave  the  cathe- 
dral, for  it  is  cold  amusement  in  these 
buildings.  Allons  for  the  porcelain- 
works:  these  will  afford  you  amuse- 
ment for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Here 
you  would  be  at  home,  and  yet  not 
be  ready  to  cry  for  every  toy  you 
saw,  as  I  almost  was.     How  delight- 


ful to  behold  the  forms  which  the 
clay  takes  from  the  plastic  hand  of 
the  workman!  and  how  interesting  to 
watch  each  process,   till  the  burnt 
materials  arrive  at  a  fit  state  for  the 
painter !  I  am  certain  you  would  be 
for  trying  your  pencil,  in  spite  of  the 
smell  of    the   colours.      I    scarcely 
know  which  to  commend  most,  the 
richness  of  design  by  winch  the  se- 
veral vessels  were  adorned,  or  the 
politeness  with  which  we  were  re- 
ceived by  Messrs.  Barrs,  the  pro- 
prietors.    I  have   generally  felt  an 
unpleasantness,  on  the  reflection  of 
the  shortness  of  my  purse,  when  I 
go  to  view  only  productions  by  which 
the  displayer  gets  his  livelihood ;  but 
here  I  found  myself  perfectly  at  ease, 
for  the  proprietors  of  this  house  ap- 
pear to  take    such  pleasure  in  the 
delight   you   receive,    as   almost  to 
make  you  believe  you  are  conferring 
a  favour,  instead  of  receiving  one. 
Your  uncle  much   admired  a  vase 
exquisitely  painted   by  a   deceased 
artist  of  the  name  of  Baxter :  he  was 
an  exhibitor  at  the  Royal  Academy, 
and,    according  to    C.  author    of  a 
work  on  Grecian  Costume. 

At  Chamberlain's  porcelain-works 
we  saw  a  model  of  the  Warwick 
vase  in  biscuit,  but  they'  have  omit- 
ted the  masks.  The  younger 
Chamberlain  is  himself  an  artist,  and 
paints  heraldry  beautifully.  Having 
dropt  a  douceur  into  the  "  workmen's 
box,"  we  will,  if  you  please,  stroll  up 
the  Foregate-street,  for  it  is  getting 
on  for  three  o'clock,  and  four  is  the 
latest  hour  of  dining  here;  indeed 
after  two  the  streets  are  as  forsaken 
as  if  the  plague  had  depopulated 
the  place.  In  this  city  they  copy 
their  betters  in  London  in  the  prac- 
tice of  promenading  in  the  streets, 


99 


WORCESTER    IN    1823. 


instead  of  the  fields  or  park.  At 
about  one  you  will  see  all  the  beauty 
and  fashion  of  Worcester;  and  you 
may  tell  Eliza,  if  you  please,  some 
very  pretty  girls  too,  and  as  merry 
souls  as  ever  danced  quadrilles. 

Talking  of  quadrilles  puts  me  in 
mind  of  the  town-hall,  where  they 
are  danced.  It  has  an  exterior  suf- 
ficiently sombre  to  try  criminals  with- 
in; and  this  Inigo  Joncs-is/t  building 
is  surmounted  with  bandy-legged 
.statues:  but  inwardly  this  edifice  is 
commodiously  elegant,  and  bears  vi- 
sible marks  of  a  visit  paid  to  this 
city  by  our  late  revered  George  III. 
But  the  Foregate  -  street  and  the 
promenade;  aye,  why  it  is  the  finest 
street  I  ever  saw  out  of  London.  It 
was  near  the  back  of  this  street  that 
the  grandmothers  of  the  -present  ge- 
neration swept  the  lawn  in  saques 
and  j// Ho  rees,  hoops  and  farthingales. 
In  Foregate-street  you  enjoy  plenty 
of  air,  for  it  is  almost  as  wide  as 
Bedford-row,  and  as  respectable  in 
its  tout-ensemble.  The  theatre  has 
but  a  sorry  exterior,  although  the 
Kembles  and  the  Sidjdonses,  the 
Keans  and  the  0'Neils,have  strutted 
and  fretted  their  hour  on  its  stage. 
Booksellers'  shops  are  not  wanting ; 
you  may  read  the  paper,  or  skim 
the  last  new  novel  by  the  author  of 
AVaverley.  They  have  also  an  ex- 
cellent public  library. 

The  parties  here  are  very  delight- 
ful: we  have  had  much  card-playing 
and  dancing;  but  as  all  do  as  they 
like,  there  is  much  conversation  as 
well.  Public  and  private  concerts 
are  not  unfrcquent,  at  which  many 
amateurs  assist;  and  I  was  very  much 
delighted  with  some  airs  I  heard 
sung  by  a  gentleman  of  this  city, 
whose    name   I    forget,    but    it   Mas 


something  like  Clinton :  he  and  his 
wife  gave  us  their  parts  in  the  Mil- 
ler's duet  beautifully. 

Here  are  likewise  two  papers  pub- 
lished. My  uncle  takes  in  one,  which 
he  is  very  fond  of;  it  is  called  Bcr- 
roivs  Worcester  Journal.  "Berrow's 
paper,"  says  my  uncle,  "  does  not 
give  us  any  original  article,  and 
therefore  those  who  are  fond  of  what 
you  call  strong  writing,  will  not  per- 
haps approve  of  it;  but  you  may 
take  the  word  of  an  old  clergyman, 
when  he  says,  that  you  will  find  as 
much  in  it  of  real  matter  of  met, 
and  as  early  intelligence  too,  as  in 
any  provincial  paper;  and  what's 
more,  you  may  put  it  into  the  hands 
of  any  of  your  family  without  the 
least  fear  of  contamination;  and  that 
is  saying  a  great  deal  now-a-days," 
concluded  the  old  gentleman:  not 
but  that  its  fellow  paper  is  also  re- 
spectably conducted. 

A  gentleman  here,  I  am  told, 
some  time  since  established  an  ex- 
hibition of  art,  which  proved  highly 
creditable  to  this  city,  its  professors 
and  patrons:  but,  alas!  the  election 
of  a  member  radically  wrong  lea- 
vened nearly  the  whole  lump — one, 
one  only  was  faithful  found — and  in 
a  moment,  although  rich  in  pecuniary 
and  professional  gain,  the  members 
dissolved  themselves,  like  the  base- 
less fabric  of  a  vision,  leaving  the 
unfortunate  amateur  no  praise  for 
his  exertions.  We  saw  some  very 
pretty  views  by  Thornycroft;  land- 
scapes by  Doe,  Smith,  Young,  &c; 
and  some  excellent  game  and  horses 
by  Pittman  :  the  latter  a  self-taught 
artist  of  real  excellence. 

During  my  stay  here  I  have  been 
introduced  to  an  extraordinary  old 
lady,  who  is  very  deaf,  but  she  has 


TIIF.    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


23 


something  of  the  gift  of  the  impro- 
visafori.  I  send  you  one  of  her 
productions:  remember,  it  is  the  work 
of  a  lady  nearly  eighty  years  of  age, 
and  surely  unique  as  to  subject. 


THE  ADVANTAGE  OF  DEAFNESS. 
That  deafness  prevails,   I  need  not  declare; 
It  will  by  conversing  plainly  appear: 
To  fret  would  be  vain,  to  grieve  do  no  good, 
For  facts  so  well  known,  by  my  friends  un- 
derstood. 
I  love  not  to  dwell  on  subjects  that  vex, 
Or  why  my  ears  fail,  my  brain  much  perplex: 
Still,  as  in  all  there's  a  good  and  a  bad, 
We'll  try  to  discern  the  good  to  he  had  ; 
Which,  it  must   be   owned,    is    of    negative 

kind, 
And  which  some  wiser  heads  it  may  puzzle 

to  find: 
Yet,  as  it  positive  ills  may  prevent, 
My  time  may  in  tracing  them  not  be  misspent. 

On  rising  I'm  told,  there  happen'd  last  night 
An  alarm  in  the  town  :   "  We  were  waked  in 

a  fright; 
The  rattles  were  sprung,  the  engines  drawn 

by, 

And  Fire!    lire!  fire!  was  the  terrible  cry. 
'Twas  morning  before  we  gain'd  any  rest; 
Hut  not  to  wake  you  we  thought  would  be 
the  best." 

When  thunder  rolling  with  its  awful  pow'r 
Breaks  the    soft  slumbers   of  the    midnight 

hour; 
While  trembling  nerves,  oppress'd  with  sla- 
vish fear, 
May  deemsome  heavy  judgment  to  be  near; 
Or  rushing  winds  the  looscn'd  tiles  o'erthrow, 
And   spread    them    clattering    on   the    path 

below, 
Which,  to  have  heard,  might  reason  strong 

appal, 
Such  serious  mischief  might  attend  the  fall: 
Should  thus  confusion  o'er  the  house  prevail, 
I  unmolested  sleep,  nor  fears  assail. 


Were  women  all  perfect,  men  mostly  right; 
Was  converse  just  held  to  improve  or  delight; 
In  heat  of  discourse,  did  we  never  say  ought 
But  would  bear  the  ti  st  of  a  cool  after- 
thought ; 
Was  all  what  it  should    be,  my   case  might 

seem  hard, 
To  be  from  a  general  converse  uebarr'd  : 
But  as  the  best  are  at  all  times  led  aside, 
By  humour  perhaps,  or  by  passion  or  pride, 
I'll  take  the  right  way,   nor  vainly  lament, 
Enjoy  my  own  thoughts,  be  more  than  con- 
tent : 
Still  the  advantage,  I  freely  must  own, 
Of  deafness,  must  long  be  felt  to  be  known. 

The  proximity  of  Worcester  to 
Cheltenham  and  Malvern  causes  an 
intercourse  with  much  beauty  and 
fashion.  It  partakes  also  of  the  pic- 
turesque scenery  of  Wales ;  the  mag- 
nificent Severn  running  through  its 
rich  pastures,  lost  behind  its  hills, 
and  again  appearing  in  its  valleys ; 
while  the  grand  outline  of  the  Mal- 
vern hills  meeting  the  eye  at  every 
turn,  blue  and  misty  in  the  twilight, 
or  gilded  by  the. noontide  sun,  are 
grand  features.  Were  I  not  a  Lon- 
doner born  and  bred,  gladly  would 
I  reside  in  Worcester.  Tell  Robert, 
who  is  a  bit  of  an  antiquarian,  that 
Worcestershire  abounds  also  in  an- 
tiquities ;  that  it  was  the  seat  of  war 
between  Charles  and  the  Parliament ; 
and  that  it  is  rich  in  minerals  and  pic- 
turesque beauty. 

And  now,  wondering  at  my  own 
industry,  having  tired  you  and  my- 
self, I  remain,  dear  Tarleton,  your 
affectionate  cousin, 

M.  P. 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM, 

Or  the  Foster-Brothkrs:  A  Talc. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  17th  ceil-    one  of  his  estates  in  the  environs  of 


tury,  the  Marquis  de  Blainmore,  an 
officer  of  rank  in  the  French  army, 
quitted  the  service,  and  retired  to 


Toulouse,  with  the  intention  of  pass- 
ing the  evening  of  his  days  in  the 
tranquil  enjoyment  of  rural : 


24 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


The  pride  of  birth  was  a  leading-  trait 
in  the  character  of  the  marquis,  but  it 
was  softened  by  a  natural  kindness  of 
heart:  never  was  he  known  to  make 
an  unjust  use  of  the  power  which  lie 
possessed  over  his  vassals ;  he  treat- 
ed them  as  men,  not  as  slaves,  and  he 
was  in  return  loved  by  them  as  a  fa- 
ther, and  revered  as  a  master.  The 
marquis  was  a  widower,  and,  to  his 
great  regret,  childless.  As,  however, 
he  was  not  quite  fifty,  he  determined 
to  try  whether  a  second  marriage 
would  not  give  him  an  heir;  and  ac- 
cordingly he  paid  his  addresses  to  the 
Comtesse  de  St.  Julian,  a  widow  of 
good  birth,  pretty,  and  still  young, 
at  least  comparatively  so,  for  she  call- 
ed herself  thirty :  it  is  true  she  might 
have  added  some  half  dozen  years 
more,  but  the  marquis  was  contented 
to  take  her  word.  He  prosecuted 
his  suit  with  vigour,  and  the  fair  wi- 
dow, though  she  had  scarcely  thrown 
oft'  her  weeds  for  a  husband  whom 
she  had  adored,  soon  yielded  to  his 
prayers,  and  pronounced  at  the  foot 
of  the  altar  that  irrevocable  yes 
which  linked  her  destiny  to  his. 

As  the  marquise  had  not,  any  more 
than  her  spouse,  a  taste  for  the  plea- 
sures of  the  great  world,  she  readily 
consented  to  remain  at  the  Chateau 
de  Blainmore,  where  before  the  end 
of  the  year  she  presented  the  mar- 
quis with  the  so  much-desired  heir. 
Ah!  with  what  joy  did  he  clasp  the 
little  stranger  in  his  arms !  how  ten- 
derly did  he  thank  its  mother  for  the 
inestimable  gift  she  had  bestowed  up- 
on him !  "  Heaven  be  praised !"  cried 
he,  "  my  family,  one  of  the  most  an- 
cient and  illustrious  in  France,  will 
not  now  sink  into  oblivion."  The 
marquis  forgot  how  frail  must  be  our 
dependence  on  an  infant's  life;  but 
what  man,  who  is  for  the  first  time  a 


father  at  nearly  fifty,  does  not  do  the 
same?  Already  did  he  in  imagination 
see  the  sons  of  this  infant  filling  posts 
in  the  army  and  the  ministry :  such 
are  frequently  the  projects  of  fathers 
for  their  children,  but  seldom  indeed 
are  they  realized. 

The  wife  of  one  of  the  marquis's 
farmers,  a  young  woman,  who  had 
recently  lain -in  of  her  first  child, 
was  engaged  as  a  nurse  to  the  young 
heir,  to  whom  his  parents  gave  the 
name  of  Charles,  and  added  to  it 
the  title  of  Comte  de  Beausejour, 
from  an  estate  of  the  marquis's. 

The  young  and  comely  nurse,  who 
was  little  more  than  eighteen,  re- 
ceived a  thousand  charges  from  the 
fond  parents  to  be  careful  of  their 
darling.  She  immediately  weaned 
her  own  son,  then  about  four  months 
old.  The  marquis  and  his  lady 
were  delighted  with  the  healthy  and 
robust  appearance  of  this  child,  as 
it  gave  them  the  greatest  reason  to 
hope  that  theirs  would  thrive  equal- 
ly ;  and  indeed  in  the  very  frequent 
visits  which  they  made  to  the  farm, 
they  had  the  greatest  reason  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  care  of  his  nurse. 

When  Charles  was  about  six 
months  old,  the  marchioness  received 
a  letter  from  St.  Domingo,  which 
acquainted  her  with  the  death  of  a 
rich  uncle,  whose  heir  she  was.  This 
event  obliged  the  noble  couple  to 
make  a  voyage  to  St.  Domingo:  they 
parted  from  their  boy  with  great  re- 
luctance, for  he  was  too  young  to 
accompany  them.  They  gave  Mar- 
garet a  thousand  charges  to  be  care- 
ful of  him,  accompanied  with  pro- 
mises of  reward  if  they  were  satisfied 
with  her.  They  entreated  also  some 
friends,  in  whom  they  could  confide, 
to  have  an  eye  upon  the  child ;  and 
having  taken  all  the  care  they  could 


THE   CASTtK   AND   THE   FARM. 


25 


to  prevent  his  suffering  by  their  ab- ' 
sence,  they  set  sail  with  heavy  hearts 
to  take   possession  of  the  splendid 
property  which  awaited  them  in  St. 
Domingo. 

Mindful  of  her  many  promises  to 
the  marchioness,  Margaret  never  re- 
laxed in  her  attentions  to  the  young 
heir,  who  grew  a  very  fine  child. 
Margaret  devoted  her  time  princi- 
pally to  him  and  his  foster-brother. 
Sometimes  she  would  amuse  herself 
by  dressing  the  children  in  each 
other's  clothes;  and  on  these  occa- 
sions, she  could  never  sufficiently 
admire  how  much  her  Frederic  be- 
came the  habit  of  the  little  comte. 
Her  husband,  who  was  many  years 
older  than  herself,  was  much  dis- 
pleased with  this  childishness. — 
"  What  harm  is  it?"  cried  Margaret; 
"  is  Charles  the  worse  for  wearing, 
during  a  few  minutes,  the  clothes  of 
his  foster-brother?" — "  No,"  answer- 
ed Maurice,  "  but  if  any  friend  of 
the  marquis  should  chance  to  come 
in  and  report  it  to  them,  I  am  sure 
they  would  be  angry:  I  desire  there- 
fore, wife,  that  there  may  be  no  more 
of  this  folly."  Margaret  promised 
that  there  should  not,  and  kept  her 
word  for  a  day  or  two ;  but  the  re- 
membrance of  Frederic's  beauty  in 
Charles's  clothes  soon  overcame  her 
prudent  resolutions,  and  satisfying 
herself  that  her  husband  was  not 
likely  to  return  and  interrupt  her, 
she  set  about  decking  her  darling  in 
the  finery  of  the  little  comte. 

While  she  was  sinking  to  the  child 
in  the  gaiety  of  her  heart,  the  door 
opened,  and  a  young  man  of  noble 
appearance  announced  himself  as  the 
friend  of  the  Marquis  de  Blainmore. 
Poor  Margaret  was  thunderstruck : 
already   she   thought   she   saw   the 

Vol.  II.  No.  VII. 


prediction  of  her  husband  complete- 
ly verified ;  her  folly  would  no  doubt 
be  soon  reported  to  the  marquis,  and 
she  should  lose  her  nursling,  and, 
what  was  worse,  incur  the  anger  of 
the  family.  While  she  stood  stupi- 
fied,  the  stranger  began  caressing 
the  child.  "  This  is  a  lovely  crea- 
ture," cried  he ;  "  is  he  the  son  of 
my  friend?" — "Oh!  yes,  sir,"  cried 
the  bewildered  Margaret. — "  He  i3 
wonderfully  grown  for  his  age." — 
"  Yes,  sir,"  again  repeated  the  trem- 
bling Margaret.  —  "  Well,  I  shall 
have  a  good  account  to  send  to  my 
friend ;  the  boy  does  you  great  cre- 
dit, and  I  dare  say  you  love  him  as 
if  he  was  your  own."  A  third  "  Yes, 
sir,"  had  hardly  passed  the  lips  of 
the  nurse,  when  a  servant-girl  burst 
into  the  room,  carrying  a  screaming 
child,  whom  she  presented  to  Mar- 
garet, with  a  declaration  that  the 
little  lord  was  certainly  killed,  but  it 
was  not  her  fault. 

No  language  can  paint  the  situa- 
tion of  the  poor  detected  culprit. 
Volmar  began  to  address  her  in 
a  voice  of  thunder,  but  suddenly 
checking  himself,  he  snatched  the 
child,  in  order  to  examine  where  the 
hurt  was,  commanding  the  girl,  at 
the  same  time,  to  tell  him  how  it 
had  happened.  Her  account  was, 
that  she  had  climbed  a  haycock  with 
the  child  in  her  arms;  the  house- 
dog had  snatched  at  her  petticoat  in 
play  as  she  was  getting  up,  and  in 
trying  to  disengage  it,  she  had  let 
the  child  foil  upon  a  rake  which  hap- 
pened to  be  under  the  haycock :  the 
teeth  of  this  instrument  had  entered 
his  thigh  and  part  of  his  leg. 

This  account,  and  the  sight  of  the 
blood,    reduced  Margaret  to    utter 
despair :  while  she  did  nothing  but 
E 


26 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


cry  and  wring  her  hands,  the  vis- 
count sent  to  summon  the  village 
surgeon,  and,  previous  to  his  arrival, 
washed  the  blood  from  the  wounds 
of  the  screaming  infant.  Happily 
the  hurts  were  not  dangerous ;  even 
the  surgeon,  much  as  he  wished  to 
make  a  job  of  it,  had  not  the  confi- 
dence to  predict  any  fatal  catastro- 
phe. He  applied  a  little  salve,  con- 
gratulated Volmar  on  the  young 
comtes  falling  into  the  hands  of  a 
man  of  his  own  extraordinary  skill, 
and  allowed,  that  he  should  be  able 
to  complete  the  cure  in  eight  or  ten 
dressings  at  most.  He  then  took 
his  leave ;  and  the  nurse,  who  by 
this  time  had  recovered  some  degree 
of  recollection,  threw  herself  at  the 
feet  of  the  viscount.  "  Ah!  sir," 
cried  she,  "  for  heaven's  sake  have 
pity  upon  me !  If  you  betray  what 
has  passed,  we  are  ruined  for  ever. 
It  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  ever 
trusted  Charles  to  the  care  of  an- 
other, it  shall  be  the  last;  and  from 
this  moment,  I  swear  to  you,  sir,  that 
I  never  again  will  be  guilty  of  the 
folly  of  exchanging  the  children's 
clothes:  it  was  that  circumstancewhich 
induced  me  to  tell  you  the  falsehood 
I  did,  though,  heaven  knows,  with 
no  ill  intention.  You  do  not  answer 
me  ?  Ah  !  sir,  is  it  possible  that  you 
will  be  so  cruel  as  to  draw  upon  me 
the  hatred  of  my  generous  lord  and 
lady  r 

At  this  moment  Maurice  entered 
the  room:  the  sight  of  his  wife  in 
tears,  and  kneeling  to  a  stranger, 
together  with  her  last  words,  had 
given  him  a  clue  to  her  secret ;  but 
the  reproaches  with  which  he  began 
to  load  her  were  stopped  by  the 
Viscount  Volmar,  who,  touched  with 
the  excess  of  her  penitence,  pro- 
mised to  conceal  the  past,  though  he 


did  not  fail  to  lay  great  stress  upon 
the  future;  and  plainly  assured  her, 
that  he  would  cause  a  strict  eye  to 
be  kept  upon  her  motions,  and  that 
the  least  failure  in  her  duty  to  the 
child  would  occasion  him  to  reveal 
what  he  had  seen  to  the  marquis  and 
his  lady.  Margaret  did  not  fail  to 
promise  liberally,  and  Volmar  quit- 
ted her  with  a  declaration  that  he 
would  soon  see  her  again.  Circum- 
stances, however,  prevented  him  from 
keeping  this  promise:  he  was  then 
on  his  way  to  Marseilles  to  meet  a 
young  lady,  to  whom  he  had  long 
been  engaged,  and  whom  he  soon 
afterwards  married. 

The  marquis  and  his  lady  found 
their  affairs  much  more  difficult  to 
arrange  than  they  had  expected : 
two  years  passed  before  they  had  put 
them  in  order ;  they  then  began  to 
make  preparations  for  their  return, 
when  the  marchioness  was  taken  very 
ill,  and  this  occasioned  a  delay  of 
some  months  more.  At  last  she  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  undertake  the 
voyage,  and  they  set  out  on  their 
return  to  France.  Let  us  leave  them 
prosperously  pursuing  their  way  to 
their  native  country,  and  see  how  the 
family  at  the  farm  are  going  on. 

Alas!  a  sad  change  has  taken  place 
there  since  the  visit  of  Viscount  de 
Volmar.  Maurice  was  troubled  with 
a  complaint  in  his  eyes,  and  impa- 
tient at  its  long  continuance,  had  the 
imprudence  to  use  a  quack  medi- 
ij  cine,  which,  in  a  short  time,  render- 
ed him  totally  blind.  This  was  a 
heavy  blow,  but  Maurice  met  it  with 
resignation:  not  so  Margaret;  her 
grief  was  extreme,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  the  religious  arguments 
and  gentle  soothings  of  her  husband 
could  rouse  her  from  despondence. 
The   children   throve   equally,    but 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


27 


Charles  was  much  the  stoutest  of  the 
two.  Frederic,  though  four  months 
older,  was  not  his  equal  in  strength 
and  activity.  They  lived  like  bro- 
thers, and  this  circumstance  was  now 
Margaret's  only  comfort.  Often  did 
she  repeat  to  her  husband,  "  If  the 
parents  of  Charles  should  not  return 
for  a  few  years,  he  will  then  grow 
so  fond  of  our  son,  that  he  will  not 
bear  to  be  parted  from  him."  By 
degrees  her  imagination  converted 
the  possibility  of  this  event  into  a 
certainty,  when  all  at  once  her  hopes 
were  crushed  by  a  letter  announcing 
the  speedy  return  of  the  marquis 
and  marchioness. 

"  Ah!  my  God,"  cried  she,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  "  we  shall  then  be 
ruined !  They  will  take  Charles  home, 
and  as  you  cannot  now  manage  the 
farm,  it  will  be  given  to  another,  and 
we  shall  no  longer  have  a  home  to 
shelter  us,  or  bread  to  eat." — 
"  Wife,"  cried  Maurice  in  a  severe 
tone,  "  how  often  must  I  remind  you 
that  God  will  never  forsake  those 
who  trust  in  him?  He  has  hitherto 
preserved  us  from  want ;  why  should 
you  doubt  that  he  will  continue  to  do 
so?  or  why  think  that  our  master, 
one  of  the  best  and  most  humane  of 
men,  will  abandon  in  misfortune  those 
who  have  been  parents  to  his  child?" 
At  these  words,  Margaret,  trembling, 
cast  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  hus- 
band, and  wept  upon  his  bosom. — 
"  Come,  come,  wife,  cheer  up!"  con- 
tinued he;  "  I  dare  say  you  are 
thinking  of  Charles's  unfortunate  ac- 
cident ;  but,  thank  God,  he  is  not  a  suf- 
ferer by  it,  and  in  all  other  respects 
you  have  done  your  duty  well  by 
him." — "  But,"  interrupted  Marga- 
ret eagerly,  "  do  you  think  that  M. 
de  Volmar  has  really  been  silent 
about  that?" — "  To  be  sure  I  do ;  he 


is  an  honest  man,  and  no  doubt 
would  keep  his  word." — "  Then," 
cried  Margaret,  "  all  may  be  well : 
the  scar  is  now  quite  worn  out ;  at 
least  if  one  did  not  know  what  had 
happened,  one  would  not  perceive 
it." — "  Very  well  then,  cease  to  tor- 
ment yourself  about  that.  Have 
you  kept  carefully  the  money  I  put 
by  for  our  rent?" — "  Oh!  yes,  it  is 
untouched." — "So much  the  better; 
our  generous  master,  who  has  alrea- 
dy sent  us  so  much,  will  see  that  we 
do  not  want  to  abuse  his  bounty." 

The  marquis  and  his  lady  arrived 
in  safety,  and  were  transported  with 
joy  at  the  sight  of  their  healthy,  har- 
dy boy,  who  was  very  evidently  the 
spoiled  pet  of  his  nurse.  His  dot- 
ing parents,  however,  found  in  his 
rudeness,  obstinacy,  and  petulance, 
only  indications  of  a  high  spirit  and 
a  noble  soul,  and  Margaret  was  thank- 
ed again  and  again  for  the  care  with 
which  she  had  formed  the  temper  of 
their  charming  boy.  But  thanks  were 
not  all  that  the  generous  couple  be- 
stowed upon  the  tender  nurse  and 
her  worthy  husband :  sensibly  touch- 
ed by  the  misfortune  of  the  latter, 
the  marquis  returned  to  him  every 
shilling  of  his  rent,  installed  him  and 
his  wife  in  a  pretty  house  and  gar- 
den close  to  the  chateau,  and  settled 
upon  them  a  pension,  sufficient  not 
only  for  the  necessaries,  but  for  the 
comforts  of  life.  Margaret  was  be- 
side herself  with  joy.  Maurice  did 
not  say  much,  but  he  thanked  his 
benefactor  with  tears,  which  the  mar- 
quis perfectly  understood.  "  My 
good  friend,"  cried  he  in  a  kind  tone, 
"  I  am  serving  myself  in  assisting 
you." — "  Impossible,  my  lord  !" — 
"  Not  at  all:  you  are  an  experienced 
farmer,  and  though  you  can  no  longer 
work,  you  are  not  the  le^s  capabfe 
E  2 


28 


HORRORS    OF    A    HACKNEY-COACH. 


of  directing  the  operations  of  hus- 
bandry. I  intend  to  turn  farmer  my- 
self; you  shall  tell  me  how  I  ought 
to  act,  and  the  money  I  shall  gain 
by  your  advice  will  be  much  more 
than  the  little  you  receive  from  me." 
It  was  thus  the  marquis  strove  to 
lighten  the  load  of  obligation  which 
he  had  conferred :  happy  would  it 
be  for  mankind  if  such  generosity  of 
sentiment  were  more  common. 

A  few  days  after  the  arrival  of  M. 
de  Blainmore,  he  received  a  letter 
from  Marseilles.  Margaret,  who 
happened  to  be  at  the  castle  at  the 
moment  of  its  arrival,  delivered  it  to 
him;  but  she  turned  pale  as  death 
when  she  heard  him  say  to  the  mar- 
chioness, "  It  is  from  our  friend  Vol- 
mar." — "  Ah!"  thought  Margaret,  as 
she  quitted  the  room,  "  now  all  will 
put."     She  listened  in  terror  at  the 


keyhole,  but,  to  her  great  delight, 
the  letter  did  not  contain  a  syllable 
of  what  she  dreaded.  It  was  merely 
to  congratulate  the  De  Blainmores 
on  their  return,  and  to  inform  them 
that  the  viscount  was  the  father  of  a 
little  girl. 

Margaret  was  now  satisfied  that 
the  vicomte  would  keep  her  secret : 
she  had,  shortly  after  the  accident 
happened,  turned  away  the  servant- 
girl  who  had  witnessed  it;  and  being 
now  settled  near  the  chateau,  she 
broke  off  all  connection  with  her 
former  neighbours  in  the  village. 
Thus  every  thing  seemed  to  preclude 
the  possibility  of  a  discovery,  and 
Margaret,  now  easy  and  happy  in  her 
circumstances,  dismissed  the  dread 
of  it  from  her  mind. 

(To  be  continued.) 


THE  HORRORS  OF  A  HACKNEY-COACH. 
TO     THE    EDITOR. 


Sir, 

I  am  the  husband  of  one  of 
the  best  women  in  the  world ;  she  is 
a  perfect  dab  at  pickling  and  pre- 
serving (Heaven  preserve  her  for  it) ; 
she  is  an  excellent  housewife,  and 
manages  all  my  matters  most  admi- 
rably; is  genteel  but  not  extrava- 
gant, sensible  but  not  affected;  was 
famous  for  drawings  of  beautiful 
children  till  she  had  two  of  her  own ; 
played  charmingly  on  the  piano-forte 
to  my  singing  till  the  arrival  of  the 
aforesaid  children,  who  now  lay  her 
under  contribution  for  all  her  stock 
of  old  jigs,  waltzes,  &c.  that  they 
may  dance  to  them. 

All  these,  and  many  more,  good 
qualities  belong  to  her;  but,  alas! 
sir,  there  is  one  drawback:  she  is 


very  nervous  in  a  hackney-coach  ; 
and  as  she  is  not  strong  enough  to 
take  long  walks,  I  am  often  obliged 
to  employ  one  of  those  very  civil 
gentlemen,  vulgarly  called  Jarveys; 
and  I  can  assure  you,  that  the  varie- 
ty of  her  fears  are  such  during  a 
ride  of  a  couple  of  miles,  that,  how- 
ever fearless  I  may  be  when  I  get  in- 
to the  coach,  I  am  almost  as  nervous 
as  herself  at  the  end  of  the  journey, 
and  quite  as  glad  to  get  out. 

Sometimes  she  thinks  the  driver  is 
too  young,  and  then  she  says,  "  My 
love,  that  boy  can  never  understand 
driving,  we  shall  certainly  be  over- 
tnrnedr  If  he  chances  to  be  very 
old,  then  she  is  afraid  that  he  can 
neither  see,  nor  hear,  nor  have 
strength  enough  to  avoid  danger,  and 


HOlinoitS   OV    A    HACKNEY-COACH. 


29 


then  she  assures  me  that  we  shall 
certainly  be  overturned.  If  the  man 
is  a  smart  natty  fellow,  and  the 
horses  good  (and  you  do  now  and 
then  meet  with  such,  though  it  is  a 
rare  matter),  and  shews  off  a  little 
in  driving,  turning  the  corners  to  an 
inch,  and  twisting  and  twirling  most 
dexterously  in  and  out  of  the  almost 
inextricable  intricacies  of  the  city 
high-road  navigation,  if  I  may  so 
call  it,  she  colours  up,  and  really 
works  hard  in  pulling  at,  and  holding 
by,  the  straps  inside  of  the  vehicle ; 
and  is  either  most  dismally  silent,  or 
gives  occasionally  a  most  interesting 
"  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us !  we  shall 
certainly  be  overturned ,•"  but  if  her 
lips  are  silent,  her  eyes  at  such  a  mo- 
ment look  unutterable  things.  If  he 
is  a  slow  dull  Jehu,  and  has  to  drive 
about  mid-day  down  Fish-street-Hill, 
over  London-bridge,  and  along  that 
delicious  avenue,  the  narrow  part  of 
the  Borough,  as  it  is  called;  then,  al- 
though the  driver  seems  careful  and 
deliberate  enough,  yet  she  is  pro- 
phesying every  five  minutes,  that  we 
shall  certainly  be  overturned  by  a 
brewer's  dray,  overwhelmed  by  a 
waggon-load  of  hops,  or  have  a  wheel 
taken  off  by  one  of  those  nasty 
Greenwich  coachmen,  who  always 
drive  to  the  eighth  of  a  hair.  Cer- 
tainly some  of  these  matters  are 
enough  to  shake  the  nerves  of  any 
man,  and  I  do  think  that  if  Phaeton 
himself  could  contrive  to  take  this 
drive  in  a  shaky  old  rattler  (an- 
glice,  hackney-coach),  he  would  be 
almost  as  much  alarmed  as  when  he 
overturned  the  chariot  of  the  Sun, 
and  set  the  world  on  iire.  One  odd 
fancy  of  my  good  lady's  is,  that  it 
would  be  a  very  awkward  thing  if 
Waterloo,  or  any  of  the  other  bridges, 
should  give  way  just  as  she  was  pass- 


ing over  it,  and  she  is  consequently 
additionally  uneasy  till  we  are  fairly 
across  them. 

In  the  evening,  when  we  happen 
to  ride,  if  every  thing  goes  on  qui- 
etly, and  there  is  no  stoppage  in  the 
streets,  then  she  is  sure  to  fancy  the 
coachman  is  drunk,  and  cannot  per- 
suade herself  but  that  he  is  reeling 
on  his  box  at  every  jerk  of  the  coach : 
certainly  this  is  far  from  an  impossi- 
ble occurrence,  but  then  I  tell  her, 
by  way  of  consolation,  that  if  the 
man  is  drunk,  the  horses  are  gene- 
rally very  sober,  and  know  what  they 
are  about  too  well  to  get  into  any 
danger.  If  it  happens  that  we  are 
returning  at  night  from  any  short 
distance  in  the  country,  then,  as 
there  can  be  no  possible  danger  of 
running  against  any  thing  but  a  turn- 
pike gate,  she  amuses  herself  with 
fears  of  robbers.  "  Only  think,  my 
dear,  suppose  the  fellow  should  be 
in  league  with  highwaymen?  Lord! 
we  shall  be  robbed  and  have  our 
throats  cut!"  I  believe  she  has  read 
of  some  such  thing  in  an  old  New- 
gate Calendar:  to  be  sure,  this  is 
only  an  out-of-town  fear,  and  when 
we  reach  the  gas-lights,  it  gives  place 
to  one  of  her  London  fears.  The 
cabriolets  have  been  out  so  short  a 
time,  that  we  have  not  yet  tried 
them;  but  I  do  not  expect  she  will 
get  into  one,  for  she  has  decided 
(and  I  think  properly),  that  no  lady 
can  ride  in  them,  because  of  having 
to  sit  in  complete  contact  with  the 
driver. 

These,  and  many  other  matters, 
serve  to  alarm  my  wife  almost  to  dis- 
traction inside  of  a  hack ;  but  there 
is  another  desperate  thing  which  an- 
noys her  excessively,  and  that  is,  if 
I  should  happen  to  have  a  dispute 
about  the  fare  with  Jarvis  when  we 


30 


DISCOVERY    OF    REMARKABLE    ANIMAL    REMAIN'S. 


get  out :  she  cannot  bear  it,  and  I 
have  often  given  them  the  overcharg- 
ed sixpence  or  shilling,  rather  than 
have  a  row  with  them  in  her  compa- 
ny. The  other  day,  when  I  knew  a 
fellow  had  cheated  me  of  a  shilling, 
I  just  ventured  to  hint  to  him,  that  I 
knew  where  the  Hackney-Coach  Of- 
fice in  Essex-street  was,  and  might 
perhaps  trouble  him  to  walk  before 
the  commissioners;  upon  which  he 
very  coolly  d d  Essex-street,  tak- 
ing especial  care  not  to  d n  the 


commissioners;  and  I,  fearful  of  a 
volley  of  the  same  sort  of  thing, 
pocketed  the  affront,  and  walked 
off. 

I  do  not  know  any  great  good  that 
my  complaining  to  you  will  produce; 
but  it  always  makes  one's  heart  light- 
er to  vent  one's  grief;  and,  therefore, 
hoping  for  your  commiseration  and 
that  of  your  readers,  I  remain,  sir, 
yours,  &c. 

Rkuben  Ridkadout. 


DISCOVERY  OF  REMARKABLE  ANIMAL  REMAINS  IN 
THE  KINGDOM  OF  WIRTEMBERG. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sir, 


Your  scientific  readers  will 
probably  be  gratified  by  the  commu- 
nication of  a  few  particulars  relative 
to  the  discovery  made  a  few  weeks 
since  of  some  animal  remains  of  ex- 
traordinary dimensions.  These  re- 
mains were  dug  up  on  the  Kahlen- 
stein,  near  this  city,  and  seem  to  have 
belonged  for  the  most  part  to  a  sin- 
gle individual  of  the  extinct  species, 
to  which  modern  naturalists  have 
agreed  to  give  the  name  of  Mam- 
moth. When  found,  they  were  not 
connected  together,  but  lay  scattered 
about.  The  first  thing  that  was 
brought  to  light  was  a  decayed  tusk, 
13  feet  7  inches  long,  the  hollow 
part  of  which,  towards  the  root,  v/as 
wanting.  Several  vertebrae  of  the 
back  and  ribs,  a  large  piece  of  the 
pelvis,  a  tooth,  one  of  the  molares, 
and  some  fragments  of  the  hinder 
part  of  the  head,  were  next  dug  up. 
During  the  last  week  there  have 
been  found  the  upper  bone  of  one  of 


the  fore-legs,  which,  at  the  thick  end, 
is  a  foot  in  diameter,  and  a  piece  of 
a  tusk,  7 j  feet  long,  and  one  foot  in 
diameter,  the  two  ends  of  which  are 
wanting. 

All  these  bones  were  imbedded  in 
clay  mixed  with  river  sand,  17  or  18 
feet  below  the  surface  of  the  hill,  and 
82  feet  above  the  level  of  the  river 
Neckar;  and  they  surpass  in  magni- 
tude all  the  specimens  of  fossil  bones 
found  in  Wirtembcrg,  and  preserv- 
ed in  the  cabinet  of  natural  history 
of  this  city. 

It  is  presumed,  that  the  spot  where 
these  relics  of  the  antediluvian  world 
were  disinterred,  contains  other  re- 
mains not  yet  discovered.  Should 
the  conjecture  be  verified,  and  this 
communication  prove  acceptable,  you 
shall  be  furnished  with  such  far- 
ther particulars  as  can  be  collected 

by 


A  Naturalist 


Stittgaup,   April  20. 


REMARKS  ON  THE  CONDITION  OF   THE  PEOPLE  OF 

INDIA. 


Extracted  from  a  Letter  from  an  Officer. 


I  AM  going  to  treat  you  with  a  few 
paragraphs  of  travellers' wonders,  and 

I  give  you  the  honour  of  a  Gael  and 
a  soldier,  that  the  marvels  I  shall 
relate  are  not  more  strange  than  true. 

This  is  the  season  when  Hymen 
kindles  his  torch  among  your  pine- 
clad  hills;  and  how  numerous  the 
provident  arrangements  that  must 
precede  the  advance  to  his  altar ! 
what  a  load  of  cares  will  ensue !  A 
house  and  furniture  and  clothing  and 
food — what  awful  considerations  for 
a  young  couple  beginning  the  world, 
without  any  fund  beyond  the  earn- 
ings of  their  youthful  years!  Had 
they  the  genial  heats  of  India  to  be- 
friend them,  they  might,  as  thou- 
sands do  here,  shelter  themselves 
several  months  under  two  bamboos 
cut  from  the  hedge  and  covered  by 
leaves,  while  they  are  working  to  get 
enough  to  pay  for  a  more  permanent 
residence.  A  few  rupees  will  erect 
a  habitation  and  supply  moveables, 
with  as  much  comfort  as  that  sum 
multiplied  by  the  number  twelve 
could  procure  in  Great  Britain ;  and 
should  the  family  increase,  and  be- 
come too  large  for  the  dimensions  of 
the  cottage,  individuals  can  sleep  in 
the  open  air  without  sustaining  any 
inconvenience  or  injury.  I  have  seen 
in  the  streets  of  Calcutta  hundreds 
of  the  natives  enjoying  sweet  repose 
at  the  doors  of  their  parents  or  em- 
ployers. 

This,  by  the  way,  lets  you  know 
that  I  am  an  early  riser,  and  I  find 
real  pleasure,  not  unmixed  with  im- 
provement, in  the  habit  of  leaving 
my  pillow  before  "  the  busy  hum  of 
men"   distracts    the   attention.      Bv 


employing  morning  hours  to  some  ad- 
vantage, I  may  propitiate  Hygeia  by 
soft  slumbers  at  noon. 

An  Indian  will  travel  with  the  ce- 
lerity of  your  best  roadsters  beneath 
the  meridian  sun,  though  the  heat 
is  perhaps  at  120  degrees  by  Fah- 
renheit's thermometer;  and  while 
thus  scouring  along  the  ground,  he 
holds  a  single  arum-leaf  as  a  shelter 
for  his  pericranium:  but  he  is  not 
encumbered  by  a  cloth  coat  and  mi- 
litary accoutrements,  which  leads  me 
to  another  chapter  of  Hindoo  and 
Mahomedan  economy. 

The  Hindoo  sircar  and  the  Mos- 
lem trader,  when  they  go  out  on  bu- 
siness, put  on  a  turban,  as  indicative 
of  respectability,  and  to  afford  a  se- 
cure place  for  cash  or  jewels  with 
which  they  carry  on  their  traffic ;  but 
the  turban,  being  used  only  in  pub- 
lic, will  last  several  years,  and  the 
simplicity,  the  unchanging  form  and 
the  singleness  of  their  vestments  re- 
duce the  cost  to  a  trifling  amount. 
Nor  is  their  apparel  of  necessity 
thrown  aside  by  the  caprice  of  fa- 
shion, or  despised  because  it  has 
been  often  seen,  as  you  know  to  be- 
the  case  among  communities  far  from 
opulent,  within  the  boundaries  of  the 
most  enlightened  people  upon  earth. 
But  I  am  growing  cynical,  and  shall 
quit  the  subject,  after  telling  you  that 
a  shoemaker's  bill,  so  formidable  in  a 
large  family  of  English,  Irish,  or 
Scottish  domicile,  will  never  impair 
1  the  finances  of  an  Asiatic  pater-fa- 
milias.  In  short,  if  the  sable  race 
of  Bengal  had  the  religion  and  po- 
litical constitution  of  Great  Britain, 
they  would  find  a  terrestrial  paradise 


32 


FRENCH    FEMALE    FARLIAMENT. 


in  their  lot.  It  is  in  these  inestima- 
ble blessings  that  you  receive  abund- 
ant compensation  for  the  rigours  of  a 
variable  atmospl<ere ;  and  I  am  sure 


that  I  never  prized  them  so  much  a> 
since  I  have  seen  other  countries. 

W.  G. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  PARLIAMENT. 


CHAMBER    OF    DEPUTIES. 

Paius,  June  10. 

Madame  Belle-Taille  rose  to 
call  the  attention  of  the  Chamber  to 
the  subject  of  fashions.  She  thought 
it  highly  necessary  that  some  striking 
alteration  should  take  place  in  even- 
ing dress:  it  was  now  a  long  time 
since  either  the  materials  or  the  form 
of  grand  costume  had  varied  consi- 
derably; and  it  was  a  duty  impera- 
tive upon  that  Chamber,  to  whom 
all  Europe  looked  for  fashions,  not 
to  let  the  present  session  go  over 
without  devising  some  that  would 
uphold  the  high  estimation  in  which 
French  taste  was  universally  held. 
She  rose  therefore  to  move  for  a  re- 
vival of  the  naked  drapery  worn  by 
the  Roman  ladies,  a  costume  which 
was  at  once  light,  elegant,  and  appro- 
priate, particularly  for  the  ball-room; 
and  would  be  found  so  strikingly 
novel,  that  it  could  not  fail  to  meet 
with  the  entire  approbation  of  all 
amateurs  of  the  science  of  dress. 

Madame  la  Bavonne  Tres-Go- 
th'tquc  could  not  help  observing,  that 
hi  the  honourable  member's  zeal  for 
French  taste,  she  had  forgot  a  little 
what  was  due  to  French  modesty; 
and  it  struck  her  also,  that  the  styl- 
ing a  very  old  fashion  a  striking  no- 
velty was  what  an  Englishman  would 
call  a  bit  of  a  bull:  however,  she 
might  perhaps  be  mistaken,  and  if 
so,  the  older  a  fashion  was  of  course 
the  more  novel :  therefore  she  beg- 
ged to  propose  the  revival  of  one 
more  ancient  still ;  she  meant  the  fig- 


leaf  apron  first  introduced  by  Ma~ 
dame  Eve. 

Madame  Belle-  Taille  in  reply  de- 
scanted with  great  bitterness  on  the 
illiberality  of  spirit  evinced  in  the 
observations  of  the  last  speaker, 
whose  ideas  must  be  very  confined 
indeed,  if  she  could  consider  it  a  de- 
rogation from  French  modesty  to  fol- 
low the  example  of  some  of  the  most 
illustrious  Roman  dames.  She  hoped 
to  find  a  more  liberal  spirit  in  the 
majority  of  the  members;  since  it 
was  evident,  from  the  present  state  of 
full  dress,  that  the  naked  drapery 
would  reveal  very  little  more  of  the 
form  than  was  at  this  moment  dis- 
played. As  a  confirmation  of  her 
assertion,  she  begged  the  noble  mem- 
bers would  look  at  the  gowns  which 
were  cut  half  way  up  the  leg,  and 
halfway  down  the  bust,  with  a  sleeve 
not  larger  than  a  shoulder-strap.  No- 
body could  deny  that  such  was  the 
present  costume ;  and  could  any  la- 
dy, who  had  liberality  of  sentiment 
enough  to  adopt  it,  object  to  a  dress 
so  much  more  graceful  and  becoming, 
as  the  Roman  costume,  particularly 
too  when  it  might  be  rendered  ex- 
tremely decent,  by  adopting  a  tight 
vest  and  pantaloons  of  flesh-coloured 
silk  underneath? 

Madame  la  Marquise  de  Parve- 
nue  seconded  the  motion,  with  the 
amendment. 

Madame  Court-Epalsse  could  not 
agree  to  the  motion,  however  it  might 
be  modified.  It  might  be  a  very 
suitable   costume   for    those    ladies 


VltF.NOII    VEMAl.K    PARLIAMENT. 


33 


whose  tall  slender  figures  would  bear 
such  an  outrageous  display ;  but  pray 
what  was  to  become  of  the  dumpy 
order?  She,  for  her  part,  thought 
that  legislators  should  always  have 
an  eye  to  the  interests  of  the  people 
at  large;  and  therefore  she  must  vote 
against  the  introduction  of  a  fashion 
which  she  was  sure  could  never  be 
generally  becoming. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  Trts-Vio- 
lente  admired  the  patriotism  of  the 
last  speaker,  though  she  could  not 
say  much  in  praise  of  her  consisten- 
cy; for  she  had  been  the  warmest 
supporter  of  a  fashion  quite  as  un- 
becoming to  the  dumpy  order  as  the 
naked  drapery  could  possibly  be. 
"  I  allude,"  continued  the  honour- 
able speaker,  "  to  the  robes  flounced 
up  to  the  knees,  which  were  first 
brought  into  fashion  by  Madame 
Lotigues-  Jambes,  and  which  were 
universally  adopted  by  the  dumpy 
order,  and  by  no  part  of  it  more  ea- 
gerly than  by  the  honourable  mem- 
ber." 

The  fair  orator  was  here  inter- 
rupted by  Madame  Courte-Epaisse, 
who  rose  in  her  place,  and  began 
with  great  indignation  to  repel  the 
charge  of  her  belonging  to  the  dum- 
py order.  As  it  is  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  the  Chamber  for  any  mem- 
ber to  speak  except  in  the  tribune, 
this  circumstance  created  a  good  deal 
of  confusion,  for  it  was  some  time 
before  Madame  la  Comtesse  would 
descend ;  at  last  perceiving  that  there 
was  no  chance  of  her  being  heard, 
she  quitted  the  tribune,  which  was  im- 
mediately taken  by  Madame  Courte- 
Epaisse;  but  she  was  so  much  ex- 
hausted, partly  by  passion,  and  part- 
ly by  mounting  in  a  great  hurry,  that 
she  was  nearly  inarticulate:  all  we 

Vol.  II.  No.  VII 


could  catch  were  a  few  disjointed  sen- 
tences :  "  Middle  size — best  height — 
I  of  the  dumpy  order! — impudent 
falsity '.—insolent  Maypole !"  Cries  of 
indignation  from  the  whole  of  the 
leftside,  and  vain  calls  from  Madame 
la  Presidente  to  order.  The  tumult 
at  last  became  so  serious,  that  the 
President,  finding  her  voice  could  no 
longer  be  heard,  put  on  her  bonnet. 
This  act  of  authority  recalled  the 
members  to  reason,  and  order  beinjr 
re-established,  Madame  Sens-Com- 
mun*  mounted  the  tribune,  and  after 
some  handsome  compliments  to  the 
classical  taste  of  the  honourable  mem- 
ber who  proposed  to  introduce  the 
naked  drapery,  lamented  that  she 
was  obliged  to  oppose  the  motion 
upon  grounds  which  she  was  sure 
that  lady  herself  would  allow  to  be 
just.  She  believed  that  that  worthy 
individual,  and  indeed  the  whole  of 
the  honourable  Chamber,  would  con- 
cur with  her  in  opinion,  that  the 
grand  object  of  dress  was  to  secure  ad- 
miration— (cries  from  different  parts 
of  the  Chamber,  "Very  truer) — but, 
unfortunately,  the  methods  lately 
pursued,  and  which  would  be  car- 
ried still  farther  if  the  present  mo- 
tion passed,  were  the  last  in  the 
world  to  procure  so  desirable  an  end. 
Men  were  such  strange,  prying,  in- 
quisitive animals,  that  they  always 
wanted  to  have  something  to  find 
out;  and  even  the  perfection  of  love- 
liness, freely  exposed  to  their  view, 
never  excited  more  than  a  momen- 
tary admiration,  which  was  always 
sure  to  be  succeeded  by  indifference, 
and  too  often  by  disgust.  "  We 
need, "continued  the  honourable  mem- 
ber, "  no  other  proof  of  this  truth, 
than  the  nonchalance  with  which  the 
*  This  lady  is  of  die  right  centre. 
F 


;U 


EXTRACT   OF   A    LETTER    FROM    THE    CAPTAIN    OF    A    CONVICT-SHI  I'. 


loveliest   bosoms   and   arms  in   the 
world  are  daily  regarded  by  those  to 
whom  we  display  them.     Do  they 
not  gaze  on  this  living  snow,  moulded 
in  the  proportions  of  the   Grecian 
Venus,  with  as  much  apathy  as  they 
would  look  on  a  box  of  pearl-pow- 
der? And  why?  Because  it  leaves  no 
room  for  the  exercise  of  their  ima- 
gination.    The  ungrateful  wretches, 
instead  of  being  obliged  by  the  pains 
we   take,   and  the   risk  we   run   of 
catching  our  deaths,   to  treat  them 
with  a  sight  of  our  charms,  would 
find   more    pleasure   in   gazing    on 
our  double  handkerchiefs  and  long 
sleeves,  and   drawing,  according  to 
their  own  fancy,  the  pictures  of  what 
was  concealed  by  them.     Not  that  I 
mean  to  recommend  such  dowdy  co- 
verings in  full  dress ;  no,  I  will  rea- 
dily admit  that  they  are  entirely  in- 
compatible with  grand  costume:  but 
surely   a    short   sleeve  of  moderate 
length,  and  a  tucker  or  tippet  that 
would  partially  conceal  the  bosom, 
might  be  admitted  with  the  utmost 
propriety,   and  would   certainly   do 
more   towards   exciting  admiration, 
thaji  bare  necks  and  arms,  or  even 
the  naked  drapery  itself." 


The  honourable  member  then  de- 
scended the  tribune  amidst  mingled 
cheers  and  murmurs  of  disapproba- 
tion; and  the  motion  of  Madame 
Belle-Taille  was  put  to  the  show  of 
hands,  and  negatived  by  a  majority 
of  ten,  most  of  whom,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  all  Faris,  are  of  the  extreme 
left*. 

The  sitting  closed  at  half-past  four 
o'clock. 

*  Note  by  the  Reporter  of  the  Debates. 
— As  tins  defection  of  so  many  members 
of  the  cote  gauche  upon  such  an  import- 
ant occasion  has  excited  much  specula- 
tion, and  as  it  lias  even  been  whispered 
that  those  members  are  likely  to  secede 
entirely  from  their  party,  we  think  it  our 
duty  to  contradict  this  report,  which  we 
have  every  reason  to  believe  is  false ;  it 
having  been  imparted  to  us  confidential- 
ly, that  these  honourable  members  were 
influenced  merely  by  considerations  of  a 
private  nature,  as  they  are  all  corpulent, 
some  under-sized,  and  one  or  two  a  little 
bandy.  We  pledge  ourselves  for  the 
truth  of  these  facts,  which  we  consider  it 
necessary  to  state,  in  order  to  exonerate 
the  fair  liberals  from  a  suspicion  so  inju- 
rious to  their  political  celebrity. 


EXTEACT    OF  A  LETTER  FROM    THE    CAPTAIN   OF  A 

CONVICT-SHIP. 

The  F.LizA,.on  her  way  to  New  .South  Wales, 
commenced  Aug.  23,  1822. 

Bear  H . 


I  commence  this  letter  in  the 
middle  of  the  N.  E-trade-wind,  hop- 
ing to  have  an  opportunity  before 
crossing  the  line  to  forward  it  to  you. 
We  sailed,  as  you  know,  on  the  2d 
of  August  from  the  Downs,  and  when 
off  Portsmouth,  as  some  of  my  pas- 
sengers cannot  exist  without  milk,  or 
stir-about,  I  was  induced  to  send  Mr. 


F.  on  shore  by  a  pilot-boat,  to  pur- 
chase a  cow,  which  business  he  ac- 
complished, and  got  on  board  again 
with  his  bargain  without  the  least 
loss  of  time. 

On  Sunday  morning  a  little  spirt 
of  fair  wind  caused  us  to  be  very  bu- 
sy in  the  forenoon,  crowding  all  the 
canvas  possible,  and  consequently  in- 
terrupted the  usual  routine  of  the 
day.  However,  we  are  rather  too 
staunch  Christians  to  suffer  trifles  to 


THE    PROGRESS    OF    A    FASHION. 


OO 


sot  aside  our  devotions :  as  therefore 
public  service  could  not  be  perform- 
ed in  the  morning,  it  was  held  in  the 
afternoon.     Now  it  so  happens  that 
our  surgeon,  being  a  Scotchman  and 
a  Presbyterian,  is  unacquainted  with 
the  church  service,   and  of  course 
unqualified  to  officiate  as  minister, 
which  it  is  otherwise  his  duty  to  do. 
Picture  to  yourself  then  your  humble 
servant  enveloped  in  a  white  dressing- 
gown,    borrowed   for   the   occasion, 
placed  behind  the  poop-ladder,  co- 
vered with  the  union  jack,  for  a  pul- 
pit, and  with  becoming  gravity  going 
through  the  service  of  the  day.     I 
must  confess  as  I  proceeded  I  felt 
powerfully  influenced  for  the  promo- 
tion of  this  sort  of  worship,  by  the 
very  cordial  manner  in  which  many 
of  the  convicts  appeared  to  offer  up 
their  prayers  to  the  Father  of  Mer- 
cies,   and  which  gave  me  sufficient 
confidence  to  proceed  through  the 
whole  service  with  an  audible  voice, 
assisted  by  Mr.  F.  as  my  clerk,  to 
whom  I  must  give  the  greatest  praise 
for  his   assiduous   attention  to  that 
part  of  his  duty,  which  requires  the 


concluding  of  each  prayer  with  an 
Amen. 

During  the  ensuing  week  we 
thought  it  prudent,  as  there  was  little 
chance  of  escape,  surrounded  as  we 
were  by  a  boundless  ocean,  to  knock 
off  the  irons  of  some  of  the  prisoners, 
particularly  those  who  had  evinced  a 
good  and  cleanly  disposition,  to  the 
number  of  about  thirty.  The  follow- 
ing morning  I  was  presented  by  one 
of  the  men  thus  released  with  the  fol- 
lowing lines  on  double-iron  emanci- 
pation: 

Hail !  happy,  happy  morn,  from  fetters  free, 
Old  England's  glorious  boast,  sweet  liberty  ! 
Oh  !  may  I  strive,  and  not  in  vain,  to  please 
Those   friends    who've  given   my    legs  their 

wonted  ease ! 
Whilst  memory  remains,  I'll  ne'er  disown, 
Or  e'er  forget  this  humane  favour  shewn  ; 
And    may   the  earth  from  its    lix'd    centre 

move, 
Ere  1  ungrateful  for  th'  indulgence  prove  ! 
Samuel  Houatio  Douglass  Holloway. 

A  frigate  is  now  in  sight  bearing 
down  to  us,  and  I  am  sorry  to  be 
obliged  to  conclude  my  letter  just 
now.  We  are  in  lat.  11°  30'  north  ; 
long.  23°  5'  west,  on  the  29th  of 
August. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  A  FASHION. 

Denique  per  multas  aditum  sibi  sa^pe  figuras 
Reperit Ovid.  Met. 

At  length  in  various  shapes  it  finds  access. 


lib. 


It  is  not  unworthy  of  remark,  that 
whilst  all  ranks  of  people  are  on  the 
alert  to  catch  and  to  adopt  the  new- 
est modes,  a  fashion  is  longer  mak- 
ing its  way  from  the  court  to  the 
eastern  extremity  of  this  huge  me- 
tropolis, than  it  is  in  traversing  the 
six  thousand  miles  of  sea  which  fluc- 
tuate between  us  and  the  continent 
of  India ;  and  by  the  time  that  it 
reaches  Wapping  or  Rotherhithe,  it 
is  so  metamorphosed  and  misapplied, 


that  it  retains  as  little  of  its  pristine 
shape,  as  a  snow-ball  would  after 
being  rolled  over  the  same  ground. 
It  is  amusing  enough  to  observe  its 
successive  wearers,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  pride  themselves  upon  be- 
ing in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  put- 
ting on,  and  putting  up  with,  the 
most  preposterous  devices  with  a 
most  unsuspecting  complacency.  The 
fact  is,  that  every  neighbourhood 
has  its  idol,  its  standard  of  fashion-, 
F  2 


36 


THE    PK0UKESS   OF    A    FASHION. 


which  is  regarded  with  as  much  de- 
ference, as  the  real  leaders  are  by 
the  beau  monde:  so  that  instead  of 
passing  directly  from  one  end  of  the 
town  to  the  other — as  it  might  in  a 
few  days  if  those  who  would  be  fa- 
shionable were  to  read  the  Reposi- 
tory— it  has  to  encounter  a  multi- 
tude of  impediments,  and  to  run 
through  an  infinity  of  circles.  The 
last  in  each  superior  circle  are  not 
slow  in  transmitting  it  to  the  first  in 
the  next  inferior;  but  during  the 
time  consumed  in  debating  upon  it, 
and  in  the  admiration  and  attainment 
of  it,  its  progress  is  in  danger  of  be- 
ing totally  arrested. 

When  first  long  waists  were  re- 
vived, with  tight  zones  and  buckles, 
I  beheld,  while  walking  in  Pali-Mall, 
an  elegant  little  figure  of  a  countess 
alight  from  her  chariot,  with  an  air 
graceful  beyond  description.  Her 
figure  being  slight  and  symmetrical, 
shewed  to  no  little  advantage  in  a 
mode  which,  from  its  apparent  frank- 
ness, must  be  extremely  inimical  to 
projecting  backs  and  aspiring  shoul- 
ders ;  and  the  inimitable  ease  of  her 
movements  completely  stifled  every 
rising  apprehension  as  to  that  long- 
train  of  maladies  said  to  be  incidental 
to  tight  lacing.  After  gazing  as  long- 
as  I  could — that  is,  as  long  as  her 
ladyship  was  in  sight — I  walked  on- 
ward, scarcely  deigning  to  glance  at 
the  short  waists,  high  shoulders,  and 
vast  circumferences,  which  had  their 
day  at  the  West  end,  I  know  not  how 
many  summers  ago,  and  which  seem- 
ed to  require  a  pavement  of  double 
the  width  necessary  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  present  compact  gene- 
ration. From  that  time  forth  I  open- 
ly avowed  a  decided  aversion  from 
short  waists,  to  the  no  small  displea- 
sure of  my  female  acquaintance,  who 


fancied,  that  in  too  curious  specula- 
tions upon  the  abstract  principles  of 
beauty,  I  had  got  entangled  in  some 
wild  theory,  totally  repugnant  to  the 
established  order  of  things.  In  truth, 
I  was  set  down  as  a  wilful  heretic  in 
matters  of  ton,  and  an  irreclaimable 
apostate  from  the  true  taste.  For 
the  sake  of  peace,  it  became  expe- 
dient to  yield  the  point,  and  to  en- 
dure with  as  little  wincing  as  possi- 
ble what  appeared  to  me  a  perfect 
monstrosity.  In  the  course  of  three 
months  I  was  honoured  with  a  card 
for  a  rout  at  my  friend  Dick  Ite- 
quete's,  who  holds  a  snug  place — 
no  sinecure  I  protest — under  govern- 
ment. The  grand  attraction  of  the 
evening  was  to  be  a  young  lady  of 
unquestionable  fashion,  the  grand- 
daughter of  a  privy-counsellor.  Her 
entre  was  looked  for  with  breathless 
expectation;  manners,  dress,  con- 
versation, and  every  thing  else  were 
to  be  studied  from  her,  who  catches 
them  of  her  mamma,  who  has  them 
from  her  mamma,  who  goes  to  court. 
What  was  the  surprise  of  the  whole 
party,  what  was  my  own  exultation, 
when,  on  her  appearance,  it  was  dis- 
covered that  her  bust  was — at  least 
three  inches  lower  than  any  other  in 
the  room;  and  that  in  lieu  of  the 
dandyzette  poke,  she  actually  held 
up  her  head,  and  suffered  her  shoul- 
ders to  be  where,  and  as,  they  should 
be;  while  the  gentle  curve  of  the 
back  where  her  sash  was  tied,  gave 
a  meaning,  a  play,  and  an  interest  to 
her  whole  figure !  On  calling  a  day 
or  two  after,  I  found  that  Dick's 
"  womankind''  had  received  some 
new  lights  upon  the  subject:  they 
now  clearly  perceived  the  weight  of 
my  objections  against  wearing  the 
waist  upon  the  shoulders;  indeed, 
they  were  prepared  to  go  much  great- 


THE    PROGRESS   OF   A    FASHION. 


37 


er  lengths  in  the  other  extreme  than 
I  had  ever  recommended,  and  were 
too  anxious  for  arrivals  from  the  | 
dress-maker's  to  listen  with  any  show 
of  patience  to  my  admonitions  re- 
specting moderation  in  all  things, 
"  always  having  an  eye  to  the  due 
proportions  of  the  human  form,"  as 
indicated  in  the  most  celebrated  sta- 
tues of  antiquity. 

From  that  time  the  revolution  of 
waists  began  to  gain  ground  through- 
out the  environs  of  Charing-Cross. 
At  first,  to  be  sure,  it  was  confined 
to  a  select  few,  but  the  novelty  of 
then*  example,  and  the  straight-for- 
wardness of  their  carriage,  soon  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  looser  cha- 
racters, who  seemed  willing  to  atone 
for  their  former  laxity  and  short- 
comings by  the  strictness  of  their 
lacings  and  the  elongation  of  their 
corsets.  The  commercial  aristocracy 
in  the  squares  north  of  Holborn 
held  out  with  considerable  pertina- 
city, but  being  overpowered  by  au- 
thorities, and  alarmed  at  the  rapid 
strides  made  by  the  retainers  of  the 
nobility,  they  yielded  almost  simul- 
taneously, and  tightened  and  length- 
ened with  great  expedition.  The 
progress  through  the  Strand  was  ra- 
pid and  uninterrupted.  At  Covent- 
Garden  little  remained  to  be  effect- 
ed, for  the  market-women,  to  do 
them  justice,  were  all  along  in  the 
mode,  their  waists  having  remained 
nearly  stationary  from  the  days  of 
Hogarth  to  our  own.  But  at  Tern- 
pie-Bar  the  career  had  well  nigh 
terminated,  owing  to  a  serious  differ- 
ence between  the  meagre  aspect  of 
this  fashion,  and  the  strong  predi- 
lection of  the  citizens  for  rotundity 
and  every  other  token  of  good  liv- 
ing; and  when  at  last  "  an  equitable 
adjustment"  seemed  to  be  agreed  up- 


on, the  press  of  pads  and  fulnesses 
— not  all  artificial — towards  the  west, 
for  a  time  precluded  even  the  slim- 
mest of  the  new  regime  from  gliding 
easily  into  the  city.  However,  the 
fashion  did  succeed  in  gaining  an  en- 
trance, though  it  passed  down  Fleet- 
street  in  a  very  spiritless  manner, 
being  only  welcomed  by  such  as  con- 
sidered it  likely  to  afford  them  an  op- 
portunity of  displaying  a  good  figure. 
Its  reception  at  New  Bridge-street 
was  exceedingly  favourable.  The 
black  sweeper  at  the  corner  girt  his 
tattered  jacket  as  tight  as  he  could, 
and  in  less  than  a  month  the  fashion 
was  in  a  fair  way  for  the  Surrey- 
road.  At  St.  Paul's  it  made  a  pause, 
as  if  undetermined  which  side  of  the 
cathedral  to  take,  but  it  presently 
made  a  dash  into  Cheapside,  and 
after  meeting  with  various  success, 
found  its  way  to  Aldgate  about  a  year 
and  a  half  after  I  had  seen  the  be- 
fore-mentioned countess. 

It  was  at  this  period  that,  being 
invited  to  meet  some  India  acquaint- 
ances at  a  common-councilman's  in 
that  neighbourhood,  I  was  introduc- 
ed to  Dorothy  his  wife  and  Clarissa 
his  daughter,  both  of  whom  exhi- 
bited an  unparalleled  longitude  of 
waist,  encompassed  with  zones  of  red 
morocco,  each  apparently  of  the  same 
dimensions,  though  the  matron  was 
endowed  by  nature  with  nearly  twice 
the  bulk  of  her  daughter.  I  felt  ra- 
ther piqued  at  the  stiffness  of  their 
deportment  on  receiving  me,  but  a 
moment's  observation  was  sufficient 
to  explain  the  real  cause  of  their 
seeming  indifference.  The  worthy 
hostess  was  so  terribly  hampered  by 
her  new  fashion,  as  to  labour  like  a 
ship  in  a  storm,  her  every  turn  being 
accompanied  with  the  creaking  of 
stays  and  the  straining  of  cordage. 


Til!'    BUCCANEERS. 


If  her  sufferings  in  performing  the 
honours  had  not  been  too  visible,  the 
variety  of  pretty  affectations  she  re- 
sorted to,  in  the  vain  attempt  to  ap- 
pear at  ease,  would  have  been  highly 
diverting ;  but  as  it  was,  they  were 
enough  to  make  "  a  gap  in  the  feast" 
of  any  feeling  man:  for  who  could 
find  pleasure  in  the  most  costly  fare, 
if  assisted  to  it  at  the  manifest  pain 
of  the  mistress  of  the  banquet  1  As 
a  good  dinner  is  at  Aldgate  too 
weighty  an  affair  to  be  interrupted 
by  frivolous  conversation,  it  was  long 
before  any  one  could  find  leisure  to 
talk;  but  in  an  interval  between  the 
courses,  a  lady  who  had  just  return- 
ed from  Calcutta,  took  occasion  to 
express  her  surprise,  with  more  can- 
dour than  discretion,  that  the  ladies 
of  the  house  should  strap  themselves 
up  in  that  uncomfortable  manner, 
now  that  it  was  out  of  date  all  over 
the  world.  ';  Out  of  date  1"  ex- 
claimed mother  and  daughter  with 
one  voice.  "  Why,"  continued  Miss 
Clarissa,  "  it  was  sported  for  the  first 
time  only  last  Sunday  at  church  by 
Miss  Model,  our  deputy's  ward." — 
"  I  know  nothing  of  Miss  Model," 
resumed  the   lady,  "  but  before  I 


quitted  the  presidency,  that  sort  of 
thing  had  arrived  from  England,  and 
being  adopted  by  the  highest  female 
authority  among  us,  had  run  for  a 
whole  month  at  the  time  of  my  de- 
parture. But  really,  my  dear,  your 
own  sense  must  have  told  you,  that 
those  odious  girdles  of  red  morocco 
were  never  received  any  where  as 
full  dress." — "  No,  it  didn't,"  said 
our  host;  "  but  /told  them  enough 
upon  that  score.  Oh!  the  frightful 
tilings!  they  make  the  women  look 
for  all  the  world  as  if  they  had  been 
broken  in  halves,  and  were  just  strap- 
ped up  to  save  them  from  falling  to 
pieces."  The  mortification  of  the 
ladies  who  had  so  unsparingly  tor- 
tured themselves,  the  elder  in  parti- 
cular, into  the  fancied  calibre,  on 
finding  so  much  pains  and  labour 
thrown  away,  was  truly  pitiable.  A 
sigh  escaped  the  mother  in  concert 
with  a  loud  crack,  which  threatened 
to  release  her  at  once  from  the  pe- 
nance of  her  own  infliction ;  and  for 
my  part  I  was  afraid  to  turn  the  con- 
versation by  a  joke,  lest,  in  the  laugh- 
ter which  ought  to  have  ensued,  the 
poor  ladies  had  been  both  undone. 

0  <t>. 


THE  BUCCANEERS. 


No  productions  of  the  press  have 
so  variously  and  essentially  benefited 
the  fair  as  periodical  publications. 
They  have  disseminated  useful  know- 
ledge and  exhaustless  amusement 
to  thousands,  who,  without  the  sti- 
mulus and  assistance  they  afford, 
would  never,  perhaps,  escape  beyond 
the  limits  of  ignorance  and  frivolity. 
If  knowledge  operates  as  a  guide  to 
the  personal  sensations;  if  mistakes 
and  errors  in  conduct  can  be  pre- 
vented  or  corrected   by  furnishing 


clear  lights  to  the  understanding,  it 
is  certainly  a  most  important  vehicle 
of  information,  which  presents  his- 
torical and  physiological  facts,  puri- 
fied from  all  grossness,  and  abridged 
from  tiresome  prolixity,  imbuing  the 
mind  with  delightful  and  salutary  ex- 
citations of  feeling,  and  laudable  mo- 
tives of  action,  even  in  early  youth, 
to  an  amount  far  exceeding  what  all 
the  observations  and  incidents  of  a 
whole  life  could  amass  for  persons 
v,  ho  have  neglected  the  rapid  acces- 


TUP.    BUCCANEERS. 


39 


sion  of  ideas  that  may  be  acquired 
by  reading.  A  few  brilliant  extracts 
from  standard  books,  some  passages 
in  history  or  biography,  or  a  de- 
scription of  the  rich  and  splendid 
gifts  of  nature  to  other  countries, 
may  create  a  relish  for  more  circum- 
stantial intelligence,  and  open  to  the 
fair  rich  sources  of  entertainment, 
which  age  and  infirmity  cannot  rob 
of  their  powers  to  delight;  and  com- 
paring with  their  own,  the  modes  of 
existence  in  which  multitudes  have 
proceeded  from  the  cradle  to  the 
grave,  they  may  adopt  the  practices 
they  approve,  commiserate  the  dis- 
tresses from  which  they  have  been 
exempted,  and  raise  their  hearts  in 
gi'atitude  to  Providence  for  their  hap- 
pier destiny. 

When  ladies  shudder  with  horror 
and  repugnance  at  recitals  of  the 
cruelties  perpetrated  by  Barbary  cor- 
sairs, they  should  be  also  aware,  that 
only  two  centuries  have  elapsed,  since 
hordes  of  adventurers  from  civilized 
Europe  were  marine  robbers,  stained 
with  crimes  never  surpassed  by  bar- 
barian monsters  of  atrocity. 

The  splendid  successes  of  the  Spa- 
niards in  the  New  AVorld  awakened 
the  cupidity  of  desperadoes  from  Eu- 
rope. They  fitted  out  armed  ships, 
to  lie  in  wait  for  the  galleons  wafting 
treasures  from  Peru  and  Mexico  to 
the  parent  country;  and  to  secure 
supplies  of  food  and  water  for  their 
crews,  they  exterminated  a  Spanish 
garrison  at  Hispaniola,  where  they 
made  a  formidable  settlement,  and 
employed  in  hunting  the  wild  cat- 
tle every  interval  of  relaxation  from 
their  maritime  expeditions.  They 
soon  thought  upon  the  expediency  of 
dividing  their  force  into  portions,  go- 
ing in  rotation  to  scour  the  ocean, 
and  attending  to  cultivate  the  fertile 


soil,  or  to  pursue  the  numerous  herds 
that  retreated  before  them  in  the 
woods.  Le  Grand,  a  Norman  pi- 
rate, induced  many  daring  men  to 
join  from  the  new-formed  West  In- 
dia colonies,  and  continued  for  twen- 
ty years  to  infest  the  American  seas. 
The  legends  of  romance  can  hardly 
parallel  their  valorous  exploits,  or 
the  profusion  and  extravagance  which 
soon  dissipated  the  spoil  obtained  by 
the  most  perilous  exposure  of  their 
lives.  Pierre  Franc,  a  native  of  Dun- 
kirk, and  Bartholomew,  a  Portu- 
guese, performed  prodigies  of  per- 
sonal prowess.  Montbar,  a  gentle- 
man of  good  family  from  Languedoc, 
while  yet  a  child,  panted  to  emulate 
those  wondrous  achievements;  but 
the  high-souled,  high-born  champion 
soon  sunk  into  the  ferocious  pirate, 
through  the  influence  of  debauched 
and  ruthless  associates.  Francis 
l'Olonois  succeeded  to  Montbar  in 
distinction;  and  Henry  Morgan,  ge- 
nerally designated  Sir  Henry  Mor- 
gan, became  more  famous  than  ei- 
ther. When  a  boy,  he  eloped  from 
his  father,  and  went  to  Barbadoes. 
His  master  treated  him  ill,  and  in  a 
few  months  sold  him  into  bondage. 
During  his  servitude,  he  heard  much 
of  the  gallantry,  the  wealth,  and  won- 
derful exploits  of  the  Buccaneers; 
and  resolved  to  join  them  whenever 
he  could  regain  his  liberty.  He  soon 
eclipsed  all  his  predecessors  in  the 
extent,  difficulty,  and  prosperity  of 
his  undertakings  against  the  Spanish 
settlements  in  South  America.  A 
predatory  warfare  at  sea  could  not 
satisfy  his  ambition.  He  attacked 
fortresses,  and  was  seldom  repulsed. 
In  the  capture  of  a  garrison  on  the 
coast  of  Panama,  a  lady  of  high  rank 
and  dazzling  beauty  became  his  prize. 
She  had  lately  arrived  from  Spain 


40 


THE    1UJCCANF.F.US. 


with  her  father,  and  was  destined  for 
the  arms  of  an  old  grandee.  Mor- 
gan was  young,  superlatively  hand- 
some, and  a  conqueror  enriched  by 
immense  booty:  he  offered  her  his 
heart  and  hand ;  but  the  pure  mind 
of  the  lofty  Iberian  sickened  with 
repugnance  to  an  alliance  with  spoli- 
ation and  every  vicious  passion.  She 
had  inspired  Morgan  with  sentiments 
that  seemed  to  refine  and  dignify  his 
nature.  He  treated  his  captive  with 
every  mark  of  respect,  avowing,  with 
ardent  professions  of  esteem  and  love, 
that  in  her  he  revered  a  soul  which 
no  adverse  fortune  could  degrade, 
and  that  she  should  be  his  guardian 
angel,  the  implicitly  obeyed  dictatress 
of  all  his  future  conduct.  He  as- 
signed to  her  a  separate  house,  a  re- 
tinue of  servants,  with  every  homage 
he  could  pay  to  her  rank  and  tran- 
scendent merit :  but  he  persisted  in  a 
determination  to  engage  her  affec- 
tions ;  or  if  she  still  refused  to  par- 
ticipate in  his  fate,  to  carry  her  away 
as  his  most  precious  and  irreclaima- 
ble right.  He  prolonged  his  stay  at 
Panama  until  the  men  grew  impa- 
tient of  inaction.  Still,  he  could  not 
so  far.  surmount  the  restraints  impos- 
ed by  genial  love,  as  to  urge  his  suit 
with  alarming  importunity.  He  pre- 
vailed on  his  lawless  bands  to  under- 
take a  small  expedition,  giving  over 
to  them  his  share  of  the  plunder.  He 
remained  with  the  lady,  endeavour- 
ing by  artful  encroachments  to  relax 
her  scruples  of  delicacy.  His  people 
returned  victorious.  They  spent  a 
week  in  riot,  and  again  were  clamor- 
ous for  a  return  to  their  own  island. 
Worked  almost  to  phrenzy  by  con- 
flicting passions,  Morgan  attempted 
liberties  that  roused  all  the  heroine 
in  the  bosom  of  his  intended  victim. 
"  Morgan!"  said  she,  in  a  tone  and 


manner  that  checked  his  desperation, 
"  your  behaviour  since  I  fell  into 
your  hands  does  honour  to  manhood 
and  to  your  country.  Repress  your 
vehemence,  and  compel  me  not  to 
change  my  opinion."  He  withdrew 
abashed  and  overawed  at  the  majes- 
ty of  virtue ;  but  soon  returned,  furi- 
ously bent  upon  overcoming  his  own 
better  feelings.  The  lady  was  pre- 
pared for  the  worst  emergency. 

"  Infamous  man !"  said  she,  "  this 
dagger  shall  be  my  protector.  I  will 
not  send  thee  to  thy  last  account.  I 
am  ready  to  die  in  defence  of  my  ho- 
nour, and  the  most  dreadful  of  all 
tremendous  chastisements  must  fall 
from  the  hand  of  the  Almighty  on 
thee,  if  thou  leavest  me  no  alternative 
between  suicide  and  a  calamity  more 
horrible  than  the  most  agonizing 
death." 

Morgan,  enraged  by  disappoint- 
ment, ordered  the  lady  into  confine- 
ment, under  pretence  that  he  had 
detected  her  in  a  correspondence 
With  his  enemies.  All  his  persecu- 
tions could  not  shake  the  fortitude  of 
this  Spanish  Lucretia,  and  Divine 
Providence  interposed  for  her  relief. 
A  few  of  Morgan's  men  proposed  to 
him  to  get  all  the  treasure  on  board 
of  his  own  ship,  and  to  set  sail  for 
Jamaica,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  Buc- 
caneers to  shift  for  themselves.  While 
occupied  by  this  perfidious  scheme, 
Morgan  became  less  vigilant  in  watch- 
ing his  fair  prisoner.  She  escaped 
to  the  woods,  and  though  the  Bucca- 
neers kindled  a  conflagration  at  Pa- 
nama, she  rejoined  her  father  in 
safety. 

Vanhorn,  a  Dutchman,  was  elect- 
ed leader  of  the  Buccaneers  whom 
Morgan  had  deserted.  He  was  a 
person  of  signal  intrepidity.  In  the 
heat  of  the  engagements  he  ranged 


THE    ECCENTRIC    MONITOR. 


41 


over  his  ship,  putting  to  death  every 
man  who  betrayed  any  signs  of  fear. 
This  savage  discipline  deterred  the 
faint-hearted  from  entering  his  ser- 
vice, but  made  him  the  idol  of  the 
brave,  with  whom  he  shared  his 
spoils  or  convivial  merriment  in  a  li- 
beral frankness.  He  was  joined  by 
Grammont,  Lawrence  de  Graff, 
Jonque,  and  Godfrey,  whose  cou- 
rage and  conduct  are  celebrated  in 
predatory  annals.  They  pillaged  Ve- 
ra Cruz,  and  projected  an  invasion 
of  Peru ;  but  instead  of  acting  in  con- 
cert, they  separated,  ravaged  many 
rich  towns,  and  then  giving  them- 
selves up  to  debauchery,  allowed  the 
Spaniards  time  to  collect  against 
them  a  force  they  could  not  resist. 
Grammont  besieged  Cam  peachy. 
The  citadel,  after  holding  out  with 
resolute  pertinacity,  was  abandoned 
by  its  defenders,  except  one  gun, 
which  continued  to  annoy  the  pirates. 
Grammont  knew  how  to  appreciate 
such  undaunted  fidelity.     The  piece 


was  served  by  an  Englishman,  who 
resolved  to  die  at  his  post.  Gram- 
mont, with  a  flag  of  truce  in  his 
hand,  expostulated  with  the  valorous 
foe,  represented  the  madness  of 
throwing  away  his  life,  and  assured 
him  of  liberty  and  permission  to  car- 
ry off  his  effects,  to  which  he  added 
valuable  gifts.  The  affair  happened 
to  engage  the  attention  of  Wil- 
liam III.  of  England.  He  had  the 
wisdom  and  humanity  to  convert  the 
misapplied  talents  of  the  Buccaneers 
to  beneficial  purposes,  He  gave  em- 
ployment to  the  most  distinguished 
commanders  in  the  colonies.  Other 
nations  followed  his  example,  and  the 
scourges  of  land  and  sea  became 
peaceful  subjects.  In  many  instan- 
ces, the  abused  capacities  of  unfor- 
tunate high-spirited  merit  might  be 
rendered  valuable  to  the  community, 
by  similar  encouragement  to  reclaim 
their  conduct, 

E.G. 


THE  ECCENTRIC  MONITOR. 


The  celebrated  French  comedian 
Preville,  who  died  in  1799,  made  his 
first  appearance  on  the  Paris  boards 
in  1753,  as  Crispin  in  UHeritier 
universe!,  and  St.  Germain  in  La 
Famille  extravagante.  He  obtain- 
ed the  most  unqualified  applause ;  but 
he  had  previously  performed  in  many 
provincial  towns,  and  especially  at 
Rouen,  where  he  had  received  such 
lessons  as  might  be  useful  to  many 
an  actor. 

Preville  was  the  favourite  of  the 
public  at  Rouen:  he  never  appeared 
upon  the  stage  but  he  was  greeted 
with  the  loudest  applause,  and  all 
who   had   any  pretensions   to  taste 

Vol.  II.  No.  VII. 


coincided  in  the  general  commenda- 
tions. Amidst  all  these  testimonies 
of  approbation,  he  frequently  observ- 
ed among  the  spectators  an  elderly 
man,  in  black,  who  seemed  desirous 
of  attracting  his  notice.  He  looked 
at  Preville  with  a  smile  of  pity,  shook 
his  head,  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
raised  his  right  hand,  and  seemed  to 
threaten  with  his  fore-finger;  after 
which,  without  uttering  a  word,  he 
mingled  with  the  other  spectators. 

Preville  at  first  laughed  at  this  sin- 
gular conduct  of  the  man  in  black, 
but  as  the  latter  always  repeated  his 
gestures,  the  actor's  curiosity  was  ex- 
cited to  learn  the  motive  of  his  con- 
G 


42 


CAMPA    RUN. 


duct.  He  therefore  took  an  oppor- 
tunity of  addressing  the  stranger, 
and  inquired  what  he  meant  by  his 
extraordinary  motions.  "  Sir,"  repli- 
ed he,  "  you  possess  all  the  talents 
requisite  for  becoming  an  eminent  ac- 
tor; but  without  great  care  you  will 
not  rise  above  a  common  buffoon." 
He  then  entered  into  an  analysis  of 
the  parts  which  Preville  had  been 
accustomed  to  perform:  he  pointed 
out  to  him  where  and  how  his  acting 
had  deviated  from  the  truth  of  the 
character  represented,  and  where  he 
had  violated  decorum  by  the  intro- 
duction of  clap-traps,  by  which  he 
had  indeed  won  the  obstreperous 
plaudits  of  the  multitude,  but  drawn 


upon  himself  the  just  censures  of 
persons  of  sound  judgment  and  re- 
fined taste. 

Preville  was  modest  and  sensible 
enough  to  profit  by  the  criticisms  of 
this  Aristarchus.  The  latter,  an  old 
procurateur,  had  from  his  youth  che- 
rished a  decided  predilection  for  the 
stage,  and  still  seized  every  opportu- 
nity of  riding  his  favourite  hobby. 
From  this  time  Preville  cultivated 
the  friendship  of  his  candid  monitor, 
and  consulted  him  on  all  occasions. 
He  corrected  the  defects  which  his 
friend  pointed  out,  and  which,  had 
they  once  become  second  nature, 
would  have  degenerated  into  gross 
faults. 


GAELIC    RELICS. 
No.  V. 


CAMPA     RUN, 
The  Field  of  secret  Combat ;  in  which  epithet  the  name  of  Cameron  originated. 


The  poems  of  Ossian  have  been 
translated  into  several  languages  of 
the  Continent,  and  received  with  fer- 
vent admiration.  The  highly  co- 
loured contrast  presented  to  the  ima- 
gination between  the  warrior,  the 
hunter,  the  heroine,  and  huntress,  and 
the  commonplace  qualities  of  modern 
refinement;  the  splendid  generosity 
of  their  chivalrous  deeds;  the  East- 
ern grandeur  of  style  in  which  those 
deeds  are  related;  the  similes  and 
figures  of  speech,  few,  but  striking; 
and  the  variety  of  lights  in  which 
the  same  comparison  illustrates  a  sub- 
ject, gratifies  at  once  the  feelings, 
the  taste,  and  the  love  of  simplicity 
and  novelty  inherent  in  every  well- 
constituted  mind. 

The  clan  Cameron,  through  a  long 
series  of  ages,  have  been  eminently 
conspicuous  for  valour  in  the  field, 
and  for  rigid  honour  in  all  their  in- 


tercourses. Sir  Ewen  Cameron,  the 
unconquerable  opponent  of  Crom- 
well's tyranny  over  the  Highlands,and 
Colonel  Cameron,  who  "  in  the  fight 
of  steel,  died  like  the  offspring  of 
Lochiel"  at  Waterloo,  continued 
"  the  unbroken  line  of  fame"  to  our 
day.  The  castle  of  Innerlochy,  the 
ancient  abode  of  the  chieftains  of 
Lochiel,  was  a  residence  of  the  kings 
of  Scotia  when  Gaelic  was  the  lan- 
guage spoken  at  court ;  and  though 
that  spacious  fabric  has  not  been  ha- 
bitable these  five  hundred  years,  the 
remains  were  in  sufficient  preserva- 
tion to  afford  a  model  for  the  castles 
of  Inverary  and  Taymouth.  Colo- 
nel Stewart's  Sketches  of  the  High- 
land  Character  have  given  many  au- 
thentic particulars  concerning  the  fa- 
milies of  Cameron  and  Macdougal, 

who  figure  in  this  relic  of  olden  time. 




CAMPA    RUN. 


45 


Songs  of  joy  in  the  halls  of  Alba 
will  send  to  future  years  for  ever  the 
fame  of  Campa  Run  na  Ceartnach 
Don*.  Her  eye  was  the  bright  glance 
of  the  mountain  falcon;  her  cheeks,  j 
the  blushing  berry  of  the  woods; 
her  lips,  the  clustering  rowan  of  the  j 
rocks;  her  smile,  the  dew  of  morn-  ; 
ing  on  buds  of  hazel  or  opening  bios- ! 
soms ;  her  speech,  an  early  sunbeam 
on  a  green-headed  hill.  Her  steps 
overtook  the  deer  with  his  feet  of 
wind,  and,  bending  her  crooked  yew, 
she  laid  low  his  branchy  horns.  She 
trained  her  white  hands  to  the  sword 
and  spear ;  and,  chieftain  of  Lome ! 
feeble  in  gathered  years !  thine  was 
the  strength  of  a  mighty  virgin  heart, 
as  a  shield  covering  thy  thin  gray 
locks  from  the  blustering  voice  and 
sidelong  gusts  of  Appin.  Innerlo- 
chy's  chief  met  her  oft  at  the  chase 
of  roes;  and  when  the  sea  darkly 
tumbled  over  rocks,  groaning  to  the 
blast,  her  light  hand  trembled  over 
the  harp,  as  falling  snows  wreathing 
upon  a  little  tree,  and  the  kindled 
soul  of  the  chieftain  of  her  love  flies 
to  meet  the  sound.  But  her  pride 
is  in  the  pointed  steel ;  for  he  that 
should  lead  her  people  lies  bound 
among  the  surly  sons  of  Lochlin. 

"  My  sire  moulders  as  a  leafless 
oak,"  said  the  maid  of  lofty  mind ; 
"  but  I  grow  with  all  my  branches 
thick  around  me,  to  shelter  him  from 
the  storm." 

The  lord  of  Innerlochy,  chieftain 
of  a  race  of  renown,  heard  her 
words  of  wisdom,  and  his  rising  love 
swelled  high  at  her  fame.  The  chief 
of  Appin,  gloomy  in  years,  seeks  the 
prize  of  beauty,  and  she  is  promised 
to  him  that  is  dark  to  her  soul;  for 
in  feeble  thoughts  age  dwelt  around 
the  chief  of  Lome.  The  moon  alone, 
pale  changing  daughter  of  the  sky, 

*  The  brown-haired  heroine. 


the  moon  alone  beholds  the  Ceart- 
nach Don  in  her  grief.  Her  red 
cheek  is  wet  with  tears;  but,  as  a 
sunbeam  struggling  through  a  misty 
valley,  her  bosom  escapes  from  the 
crowding  steps  of  dismay.  Her  ma- 
ny-coloured fears  and  sinking  cou- 
rage were  no  more  than  the  bow  of 
a  shower.  One  moment  it  bends 
with  all  its  tints  over  the  heavens :  it 
is  gone ;  the  sun  spreads  abroad  with 
brighter  rays,  and  awakes  the  birds 
to  their  song. 

u  Go  in  haste,"  she  said  to  Fair- 
gear,  rider  of  the  currents ;  "  go, 
wrap  the  son  of  Muime*  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  southern,  and  say  to  the 
chief  of  Appin,  the  plunderer  of  a 
bark  distressed  must  come  forth  to 
combat  with  the  lord  of  Glentin- 
nar." 

Fairgear  goes  and  returns.     His 
light  ship  skims  the  billows  for  Alnu- 
maght  of  Erin,  and  the  Ceartnach 
Don  prepares  to  measure  lances  with 
him  that  dared  to  frown  on  her  fa- 
ther. As  a  moonbeam  wading  through 
flaky  snow  was  the  face  of  the  he- 
roine, covering  her  deep  thoughts 
with  smiles  of  mirth ;  and  the  smile 
of  loveliness  on  her  lips  shewed  how 
her  soul  grew  in  danger.     Guanag, 
that  cheered  the  aged  lord  of  Lome 
with  pranks  of  childhood,  observes 
the  shirt  of  mail,  plumed  helmet,  and 
studded  three-cornered  buckler,  in 
j  the  bower  of  the  virgin,  and  hies 
j  over   hill   and   glen   to   Innerlochy. 
!  Breathless  with  speed,  his  beckoning 
|  hand  quickens  the  approach  of  the 
j  chief,  landing  on  his  own  shores  with 
his  warrior  vassals,  after  a  conquest 
over  the  coast  of  tall  pines  and   icy 
waters.     The  lord  of  Innerlochy  at 
a  distance  knew  the  wavering  steps 
of  Guanag f.     Behind  a  rock  lash- 

*    Muime,  nurse. 
f  Guanag,  volatile  or  crazy. 


44 


CAMPA    RUH. 


ed  by  tumbling  surges,  Guanag  draws 
near,  whirling  in  dance,  as  the  foam- 
ing ocean  tossed  by  contending  tides. 

"  Campa  Run  na  Ceartnach  Don !" 
he  sung,  fast  turning  on  his  heels, 
though  beaten  sore  with  rapid  travel, 
until  the  chief,  by  a  mighty  grasp, 
fixes  him  to  the  spot,  and  presses 
from  him  all  that  hung  in  broken  ed- 
dies over  his  restless  spirit. 

The  lord  of  Innerlochy  knew  the 
false  heart  of  Appin.  He  and  his 
hidden  men  at  arms  take  the  field 
before  the  joy  of  his  dreams.  She 
comes  in  all  her  awful  beauty,  and 
leans  upon  her  beamy  spear.  The 
chief  of  Innerlochy  glides  among 
trees,  to  stand  between  her  and  the 
foe.  She  sees  him  not ;  for  the  ter- 
rible rejoicing  of  a  first  fight  wraps 
her  soul.  Appin  comes  forth  on  a 
steed  prancing  as  the  steed  of  the 
stranger;  his  arms  glittering  in  the 
sun.  His  sounding  horn  calls  from 
the  nodding  rushes  a  host  to  seize 
the  southern  challenger;  but  the 
chief  of  Innerlochy  and  his  warriors 
spring  as  flames  of  fire  from  the  dell 
of  underwood.  The  rage  of  battle 
bursts  on  every  side,  and  the  spear 
of  Appin  has  gleamed  behind  the 
chief  of  Innerlochy,  when  a  shaft, 
that  never  failed  from  the  hand  of  the 
Ceartnach  Don,  pierces  his  treacher- 
ous heart.  He  yells  a  thousand 
curses,  and,  fierce  to  the  last,  he  dies 
as  a  wild  boar  of  the  desert. 

The  lord  of  Innerlochy,  chief- 
tain of  a  race  of  renown,  has  saved 
the  daughter  of  Lome,  and  as  the 
star  of  his  love,  she  sparkles  in  his 
towers.  Their  people  are  glad  in  the 
ever -open  halls  of  Innerlochy  and 
his  heroine — every  eye  brightens  in 
their  presence,  and  strangers  forget 
their  own  land  at  this  board  of  mirth. 
As   beautiful   flowers  of  the  wood, 


their  children  grow  around  them; 
and  their  foes  are  scattered  as  leaves 
of  autumn  before  a  gale  of  the  cliffs. 
But  the  herald  of  Scotland,  on  eagle 
wings,  summons  the  chosen  warriors 
of  king  Duncan  to  drive  the  heavy 
clubs  of  Lochlin  from  the  south.  The 
sons  of  the  mountains  lift  the  spear 
and  bend  the  twanging  bow  for  the 
flat  dull  vales ;  and  wild  roes  feed 
where  heroes  trod  in  their  might. 

"  Who  comes  to  Innerlochy  in  the 
folds  of  disguise  ?"  By  the  fire  of  va- 
lour in  his  full  dark  eye,  her  long- 
absent  brother  is  known  to  the  Ceart- 
nach Don.  Her  snowy  arms  are  clasp- 
ed on  his  neck. 

"  My  heart  beats  high,"  he  said, 
"  my  heart  beats  high  to  behold  the 
castle  towers  of  our  fathers." 

"  My  young  brother,"  replied  the 
spouse  of  Innerlochy,  "  the  awful 
voices  of  other  times  warn  us  to  co- 
ver the  flame  of  our  souls  with  the 
skirts  of  wisdom.  But  lately  freed 
from  the  bonds  of  Lochlin,  a  more 
deadly  danger  haunts  thy  return  to 
Lome.  The  next  heir  of  our  house 
accuses  lagging  death  that  spares  the 
gray-haired  chief,  sunk  low  in  a  dim- 
sighted  mist  of  years.  The  powers 
of  Innerlochy,  and  of  thy  far-de- 
scended race,  spread  the  light  of  re- 
nown over  the  south.  My  hero  will 
come  back  in  the  fame  of  his  battles, 
and  join  his  arms  with  the  brother  of 
his  spouse." 

"  Can  I  calm  my  burning  soul?" 
answered  the  youth.  "  As  a  stag 
worn  out  by  many  winters,  shall  I 
hide  in  a  hollow  to  shun  the  storm? 
No,  give  me  to  meet  the  sons  of 
Lochlin.  Their  black  prows  are  man- 
ned for  St.  Columba,  and  the  sons  of 
peace  shall  fall  beside  their  domes  of 
prayer.  Are  there  no  aged  sinews 
I  of  war,  no  boys  of  growing  soul,  to 


CAMP  A    RUN. 


43 


follow  the  young  chief  of  Lome  in 
the  fight  of  steel:1" 

"  Nor  aged  beam  of  valour,  nor 
boys  of  growing  soul,  tread  along 
our  hills;  they  all  followed  my  hero 
to  the  south,"  said  the  Ceartnach 
Don:  "  but  daughters  of  Argathela, 
with  souls  strong  in  danger,  shall  save 
from  the  followers  of  Loda  the  Isle 
of  Holy  Vigils.  Our  hands  are  train- 
ed to  the  bow,  our  boast  is  in  the 
spear.  We  shall  scatter  the  rovers 
of  icy  waters  as  snow-flakes  before 
a  rustling  gale." 

The  Ceartnach  Don  sends  blazing 
brands  by  fleet  -  footed  damsels 
through  every  hill  and  glen ;  and  the 
daughters  of  the  chase  attend  her 
call  from  shaggy  mountain  and  green 
narrow  vale  throughout  all  the  lands. 
They  ;  steer  many-oared  berlins  to 
follow  the  star  of  Innerlochy,  a  guid- 
ing light  in  the  course  of  fame.  The 
ascending  joy  of  a  first  fight  shines 
in  every  glance  of  the  young  chief  of 
Lome,  as  he  leads  the  dames  and 
virgins  of  Innerlochy  to  their  ships. 
The  thick  woods  of  Lochyside  are 
lighted  by  the  streaming  blaze  of 
their  arms,  and  as  meteors  shooting 
over  the  blue  main,  or  sea-fowl  pur- 
suing the  finny  tribes,  their  bound- 
ing war-barks  stretch  swiftly  to  the 
Isle  of  Holy  Vigils.  The  sons  of 
rapine  are  on  the  beach. 

"  Draw  your  white  arms  from  the 
bossy  shield,"  said  the  young  chief 
of  Lome;  "  let  not  your  weapons 
appear  to  the  song  of  Lochlin.  Let 
them  be  ensnared  by  your  floating 
robes." 

The  sons  of  snow  expect  an  easy 
prey  of  beauty.  They  plunder  the 
halls  of  St.  Columba  to  spread  a  feast 
of  mirth,  and  moved  by  the  soft 
voices  of  the  lovely  strangers,  they 
spare  the  lives  of  the  sons  of  peace. 


The  smooth  blooming  face  of  the 
boy-chief  of  Lome,  in  female  vest- 
ments, awakens  no  thought  of  the 
child  they  held  years  in  bondage; 
and  the  eye  of  the  Ceartnach  Don 
guides  the  youth  while  he  seems  to 
command  the  array.  The  banquet 
is  spread.  The  gladdening  shell  cir- 
cles round.  As  flies  of  evening  be- 
fore a  summer  shower,  so  flitted  the 
hosts  of  Lochlin  in  wildness  of  mirth. 
The  smiling  strangers  take  their 
clubs  as  in  sport.  The  dubs  are 
reared  in  piles,  to  shelter  the  cheek 
of  beauty  from  the  breeze  of  night. 
Unseen,  the  chief  of  Lome  kindles 
the  piles.  They  flame.  The  pole- 
axes  and  clubs  are  consumed.  The 
Ceartnach  Don  gives  a  voice  to  her 
silver  horn.  The  arrows  of  Arga- 
thela fly  thick  and  fast.  Lochlin  re- 
treats to  the  shore.  The  mild  sons 
of  prayer  join  in  deathful  strokes  to 
aid  the  heroines  of  Argathela.  Heaps 
of  dying  foes  are  on  the  rock  of  St. 
Columba.  Songs  of  thanksgiving 
swell  in  every  church,  and  the  hero- 
ines of  Argathela  are  blessed  by  holy 
lips. 

The  chief  of  Innerlochy  returns 
in  the  far-spreading  name  of  renown. 
In  the  fire  of  a  mighty  soul  he  hails 
the  spouse  of  his  love,  the  heroine 
that  saved  the  Lie  of  Holy  Vigils. 

"  By  the  Campa  Run  I  won  the  he- 
roine of  Lome  from  her  father,"  he 
said,  "  and  lovely  was  her  fame 
among  virgins.  No  dark  deed  stain- 
ed the  pure  light  of  her  bosom, 
though  the  aged  chief  promised  the 
sun  of  his  race  to  gloomy  Appin. 
Now  the  blaze  of  her  steel  is  like  the 
orb  of  noon,  when  his  beams  are  on 
every  hill,  and  his  heat  is  felt  in  ca- 
verns of  the  deep.  The  sons  of  the 
mountains  have  slain  or  chased  from 
valleys  of    the  south  the  frowning 


46 


SOCIETY    OF   ARTS. 


riders  of  stormy  seas ;  and  mothers, 
daughters,  sisters,  and  spouses  of  the 
great  in  arms,  have  stood  as  a  ridge 
of  hallowed  fire,  to  save  from  pro- 
fanation the  dwellings  of  the  saints. 
Blessings  from  the  Highest  shall  flow 
on  them  through  all  generations; 
and  the  song  of  bards  shall  mix  the 


renown  of  the  Ceartnach  Don  with 
the  mighty  tempests  of  war.  My 
race  shall  be  known  by  the  Campa 
Run.  In  the  name  of  her  first  fight 
they  shall  brighten  among  the  vali- 
ant through  all  generations,  and  ga- 
ther renown  in  the  foremost  ranks  of 
war."  B.  G. 


ANNIVERSARY    AND    REWARDS    ADJUDGED    BY    THE 
SOCIETY  OF  ARTS. 


The  anniversary  of  that  useful  in- 
stitution, the  Society  for  the  En- 
couragement of  Arts,  Manufactures, 
and  Commerce,  was  held  as  usual 
on  the  28th  of  May.  The  great 
number  of  applications  for  admission 
to  the  interesting  spectacle  of  the 
presentation  of  the  rewards  adjudg- 
ed by  the  Society,  has  for  some  years 
past  pointed  out  the  propriety  of  per- 
forming that  ceremony  in  some  more 
capacious  building  than  the  Society's 
house  in  the  Adelphi.  It  was  held 
this  year  at  the  King's  Theatre  in 
the  Haymarket,  and  was  attended 
by  upwards  of  four  thousand  spec- 
tators of  the  first  respectability.  The 
whole  of  the  arrangements  produced 
a  spectacle,  which,  for  grandeur,  far 
surpassed  every  former  exhibition  of 
the  kind. 

The  rewards  were  presented  by 
the  Royal  President,  the  Duke  of 
Sussex,  in  the  following  order : 
IN  AGRICULTURE  &  RURAL  ECONOMY. 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Wildman,  Newstead 
Abbey,  for  planting  500  acres  with  forest 
trees — gold  Ceres  medal. 

Messrs.  Cowley  and  Staines,  Winslow, 
Bucks,  for  preparing  I431bs.  of  opium  from 
poppies  grown  in  England — thirty  guineas. 

J.  W.  Jeston,  Esq.  Henley-on-Thames,  for 
his  improved  mode  of  collecting  the  juice  of 
the  opium  poppy — large  silver  medal. 

W.   Pyle   Taunton,    Esq.  Cheam,  Surrey, 
for  early  horse-beans — large  silver  medal. 
IN  CHEMISTRY. 

Mr.   James    Marsh,    Rush    Grove -place, 


Woolwich,  for  a  portable  electro-magnetic 
apparatus — large  silver  medal  and  thirty 
guineas. 

Mr.  H.  Marshall,  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  for 
improved  melting-pots  for  brass-founders 
and  steel-makers — large  silver  medal. 

Mr.  J.  T.  Cooper,  Lambeth,  for  his  im- 
provements in  the  apparatus  for  analyzing 
vegetable  and  animal  substances — large  sil- 
ver medal. 

The  same,  for  an  hydrometer  for  saline 
solutions — gold  Vulcan  medal. 

G.  Gurney,  Esq.  Argyll-street,  for  an  oxy- 
hydrogen  blowpipe — gold  Vulcan  medal. 
IN  POLITE  ARTS.—  Original  Oil  Paintings. 
Mr.  G.  Hilditch,  jun.    for   a   landscape — 
gold  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  R.  H.  Hilditch,  for  a  landscape — large 
silver  medal. 

Miss  Eliza  Anne  Drummond,  for  an  histo- 
rical composition — silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  Philip  Simpson,  for  a  portrait — gold 
Isis  medal. 

Mr.  J  G.  Middleton,  for  a  portrait — large 
silver  medal. 

Mr.  Jos.  Miles  Gilbert,  for  a  marine  paint- 
ing— silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  H.  Pearsall,  for  a  landscape — silver 
Isis  medal. 

Mr.  F.  W.  Watts,  for  a  landscape— large 
silver  medal. 

Mr.  J.  Porter,  for  an  historical  composition 
— silver  Isis  medal. 

Miss  Rose  Emma  Drummond,  for  an  his- 
torical composition — large  silver  medal. 
Copies  in  Oil. 
Miss    Jane    Drummond,    for   a  portrait- 
silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  H.  Johnson,  for  a  portrait— large  sil- 
ver medal. 

Mr.  F.  Rochard,  for  an  historical  subject 
—  silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  S.  Drummond,  for  an  historical  sub- 
ject—large silver  medal. 


SOCIETY    OF    ARTS. 


47 


Original  Paintings  in  Water-Colours. 

MissRobson,  for  a  composition  of  flowers— 
silver  Isis  medal. 

Miss  Mary  Willis,  for  a  composition  of 
flowers— large  silver  medal. 

Mr.  T.  Richmond,  for  a  portrait — silver 
Isis  medal. 

Miss  M.  Ross,  for  a  portrait — large  silver 
medal. 

Miss  Frances  Eddy,  for  a  composition  in 
flowers — silver  Isis  medal. 

Copies  in  Water- Colours. 

Mr.  James  Hamilton  Lawson,  for  a  por- 
trait— silver  palette. 

Mr.  T.  Baynton,  for  a  landscape — silver 
Isis  medal. 

Miss  Matilda  Smith,  for  a  portrait — large 
silver  medal. 

Miss  Mary  Jane  Hull,  for  a  portrait — sil- 
ver Isis  medal. 

Miss  Mary  Willis,  for  a  flower-piece — sil- 
ver Isis  medal. 

Mr.  Frederick  Rochard,  for  a  portrait — 
silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  G.  R.  Ward,  for  a  portrait — large  sil- 
ver medal. 

Original  Drawing  in  Chalk. 

Mr.  J  A.  Cahusac,  for  a  drawing  of  the 
musk-ox— silver  palette. 

Copies  in  Ink,  Chalh,  Pencil,  fyc. 

Mr.  C.  Horatio  Bunning,  for  an  historical 
subject — silver  palette. 

Mr.  T.  Barrett,  for  an  historical  subject — 
silver  palette. 

Miss  Ann  Hopkins,  for  a  landscape— silver 
palette. 

Miss  Rowe,  for  an  historical  subject— silver 
Isis  medal. 

Miss  Eliz.  Clarke,  for  an  historical  subject 
— large  silver  medal. 

Mr.  W.  Baker,  for  an  historical  subject — 
silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  Ebenezer  Stalker,  jun.  for  a  land- 
scape— silver  Isis  medal. 

Miss  Louisa  Mary  Vully,  for  a  head — sil- 
ver Isis  medal. 

Drawing  in  Outline  from  a  Statue. 

Mr.  I.  Solomon,  for  the  Laocoon — large 
silver  medal. 

Finished  Drawings  from  Statues  and  Busts. 

Miss  Sarah  Cox,  for  a  drawing  from  a  bust 
— silver  Isis  medal. 

Miss  Jane  Stalker,  for  a  drawing  from  a 
bust — silver  palette. 

Mr.  Evan  Williams,  for  a  drawing  from  a 
bust — silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  Phil.  Corbet,  for  a  drawing  from  a  sta- 
tue—large silver  medal. 


Mr.  P.  H.  Desvignes,  for  a  drawing  from  a 
bust— silver  palette. 

Mr.  J.  Padgett,  for  a  drawing  from  a  bust 

—  large  silver  medal. 

Mr.  Ebenezer  Stalker,  for  a  drawing  from 
a  bust — silver  palette. 

Mr.  T.  Fairland,  for  a  drawing  from  a  fi- 
gure— large  silver  medal. 

Mr  E.  Williams,  for  a  drawing  from  an 
entire  figure  —  silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr  S.  W.  Cecil,  for  a  drawing  of  an  ana- 
tomical figure — large  silver  medal. 

Original  Models  in  Plaster. 

Mr.  Ed.  Edwards,  for  a  group,  Ulysses  and 
Calypso— gold  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  Ed.  G.  Physick,  for  two  single  figures, 
Telemachus  and  Narcissus  —  large  silver 
medal. 

Models  in  Plaster,   Copies. 

Mr.  Mich.  Teasdale,  for  a  head— silver 
palette. 

Mr.  Jos.  Deare,  for  a  model  of  a  Bacchus 

—  silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  Ed.  Edwards,  for  a  model  in  the  round 
from  a  group — large  silver  medal. 
Architecture. 

Mr.  P.  H.  Desvignes,  for  a  drawing  of  a 
Corinthian  capital — silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  C.  Purser,  for  an  original  design  for 
a  British  Museum — gold  medallion. 

Mr.  Henry  Basset,  for  an  original  design 
for  a  British  Museum — gold  Isis  medal. 
Carving  in  Wood. 

Mr.  Nicholl,  for  a  carving  in  wood  of  a 
figure — gold  Isis  medal, 

Mr.  Henry  Bailes,  for  an  original  carving 
of  flowers — silver  Isis  medal. 


Mr.  James  Harris,  for  a  syringe  to  preserve 
oil-paint  in — large  silver  medal  and  ten 
guineas. 

C.  Warren,  Esq.  for  his  improvements  in 
the  art  of  engraving  on  steel-plate — large 
gold  medal. 

W.  Brockedon,  Esq.  for  a  rest  for  painters 
— silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  W.  Deeble,  for  his  method  of  taking 
casts  of  leaves  and  foliage — silver  Isis  medal. 

Mr.  G.  Mills,  for  the  new  die  of  the  Vul- 
can medal  presented  by  him — gold  Vulcan 
medal. 

IN  MANUFACTURES. 

Mr.  W.  V.  Shenton,  for  an  improved  en- 
gine for  tramming  silk — silver  Vulcan  medal. 

Mr.  W.  Cobbett,  for  plat  from  English 
grass — large  silver  medal. 

IN  MECHANICS. 

Mr.  C.  A.  Siebe,  for  a  tap  for  hollow  screws 
— silver  Vulcan  medal  and  five  guineas. 


48 


CURE    Ol'    HYDROPHOBIA. 


Mr.  E.  Pechey,  for  a  mangle — silver  Vul- 
can medal  and  ten  guineas. 

Ed.  Speer,  Esq.  for  his  centrifugal  check- 
hooks — silver  Vulcan  medal. 

R.  W.  Wilkinson,  Esq.  Captain  R.  M.  for 
a  marine  arm-chest — large  silver  medal. 

J.  Amesbury,  Esq.  for  an  apparatus  for 
fractures  of  the  lower  limbs — gold  Vulcan 
medal. 

Mr.  W.  Raynes,  for  a  cap  for  fractured 
patella— silver  Vulcan  medal  and  ten  guineas. 

Mr.  James  Jones,  for  a  kiln  for  drying 
grain — large  gold  medal. 

Mr.  Jas.  Dennett,  for  an  apparatus  for 
baling  ships — large  silver  medal 

C.  C.  Dansey,  Esq.  Captain  Royal  Artil 
Jery,  for  a  kite  for  effecting  a  communica- 
tion between  a  stranded  ship  and  the  shore — 
gold  Vulcan  medaL 

Mr.  J.  Evans,  for  his  method  of  equaliz- 
ing the  strain  on  tackles — large  silver  medal. 

Mr  J.  Elliott,  for  his  apparatus  for  the 
use  of  dry-grinders — gold  Vulcan  medal 

IN  COLONIES  AND  TRADE. 

Mr.  J.  F.  Donovan,  Aberdour,  Fifeshire, 
for  exporting  British  cured  herrings — fifty 
guineas. 

Mr.  Gregory  Blaxland,  for  wine,  the  pro- 
duce of  his  viueyard  in  New-South  Wales 
— large  silver  medaj. 


The  Society  have  also  directed,  that  the  fol- 
lowing performances  in  the  class  of  Polite 
Arts  be  exhibited,  on  account  of  their  me- 
rit, with  those  to  which  premiums  have 
been  awarded  : 
A  finished  anatomical  drawing,   by  Mr  G. 

Simpson. 

An  original  painting   of  flowers,  by  Miss 

Bowley. 

A  copy    of   a    miniature,    by    Mr.    Edwin 

Dalton. 

A  finished   drawing   of  the   Gladiator,  by 

Mr.  J.  Padgett. 

A  drawing   of  the   altar-screen   of  St.  Sa- 
viour's church,  Southwark,  by  Mr    G.  Gwilt, 

jun. 

A  copy  in  oil,  from  the  bust  of  Homer,  by 

Mr.  Philip  Corbett 

A  copy  of  a  miniature,  by  Miss  Mary- Anne 

Hale. 


The  Society  have  also  voted  their  special 
thanks 

To  Captain  Hawkins,  for  his  plantations  of 
forest  trees,   near  Kingsbridge,  Devon. 

To  Mr.  T.  Jones,  for  his  guard  to  the 
wheels  of  waggons. 

Since  the  last  distribution,  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  new  mem- 
bers have  been  elected. 


CURE  OF  HYDROPHOBIA. 


We  have  received  from  a  gentle- 
man at  Berlin,  the  following  import- 
ant statement  of  the  mode  of  cure 
practised  in  the  Ukraine  for  the  bite 
of  a  mad  dog.  It  is  translated  from 
the  Berlin  State  Gazette  (No.  20), 
of  the  14th  of  February,  1822,  and 
does  certainly  seem  entitled  to  the 
fullest  consideration  of  all  medical 
practitioners. 

"  When  Mr.  Marochetti,  an  ope- 
rator in  the  hospital  at  MoscoMr,  was 
in  the  Ukraine  in  1813,  in  one  day 
fifteen  persons  applied  to  him  for 
cure,  having  been  bitten  by  a  mad 
dog.  Whilst  he  was  preparing  the 
remedies,  a  deputation  of  several 
old  men  made  its  appearance,  to  re- 


quest him  to  allow  a  peasant  to  treat 
them,  a  man  who  for  some  years  past 
enjoyed  a  great  reputation  for  his 
cures  of  hydrophobia,  and  of  whose 
services  Mr.  Marochetti  had  already 
heard  much.  He  consented  to  their 
request,  under  these  conditions — 1st, 
that  he,  Mr.  Marochetti,  should  be 
present  at  every  thing  done  by  the 
peasant; — 2dly,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  fully  convinced  that  the 
dog  was  really  mad,  he,  Mr.  Maro- 
chetti, should  select  one  of  the  pa- 
tients, who  should  only  be  treated 
according  to  the  medical  cures  usu- 
ally held  in  estimation.  A  girl  of 
six  years  old  was  chosen  for  this 
purpose. 


CUKE    OF    HYDROPHOBIA. 


49 


"  The  peasant  gave  to  his  four- 
teen patients  a  strong  '  decoction' 
of  the  tops  and  flowers  of  yellow 
broom  (about  a  pound  and  a  half 
daily),  and  examined  twice  a  day  un- 
der the  tongues,  where,  as  he  stated, 
small  knots,  containing  the  poison  of 
the  madness,  must  form  themselves. 
As  soon  as  these  small  knots  actually 
appeared,  and  which  Marochetti  him- 
self saw,  they  were  opened,  and  cau- 
terized with  a  red-hot  needle;  af- 
ter which  the  patient  gargled  with 
the  decoction  of  broom.  The  re- 
sult of  this  treatment  was,  that  all 
the  fourteen  (of  whom  only  two,  the 
last  bitten,  did  not  shew  these  knots,) 
were  dismissed,  cured,  at  the  end  of 
six  weeks,  during  which  time  they 
drank  this  decoction.  But  the  little 
girl,  who  had  been  treated  according 
to  the  usual  methods,  was  seized  with 
hydrophobic  symptoms  on  the  seventh 
day,  and  was  dead  in  eight  hours  after 
they  first  took  place.  The  persons 
dismissed  as  cured  were  seen  three 
years  afterwards  by  Mr.  Marochetti, 
and  they  were  all  sound  and  well. 

"  Five  years  after  this  circum- 
stance (in  1818),  Mr.  Marochetti  had 
a  new  opportunity  in  Podolia  of  con- 
firming this  important  discovery.  The 
treatment  of  twenty-six  persons,  who 
had  there  been  bitten  by  a  mad  dog, 
was  confided  to  him :  nine  were  men, 
eleven  women,  and  six  children.  He 
gave  them  at  once  a  decoction  of 
broom,  and  a  diligent  examination 
of  their  tongues  gave  the  following 
result : — five  men,  all  the  women,  and 
three  children,  had  the  small  knots 
already  mentioned ;  those  bitten  worst, 
on  the  third  day,  others  on  the  fifth, 
seventh,  and  ninth,  and  one  woman, 
who  had  been  bitten  but  very  super- 
ficially in  the  leg  only,  on  the  twenty- 
first  da\\  The  other  seven  also,  who 

Vol.' II.  No.  TIL 


shewed  no  small  knots,  drank  the 
decoction  six  weeks,  and  all  the  pa- 
tients were  cured. 

"  In  consequence  of  these  obser- 
vations, Mr.  Marochetti  believes  that 
the  hydophobic  virus,  after  remain- 
ing a  short  time  in  the  wound,  fixes 
itself  for  a  certain  time  under  the 
tongue,  at  the  openings  of  the  ducts 
of  the  sub-maxillary  glands,  which 
are  at  each  side  of  the  tongue-string, 
and  there  forms  those  small  knots  in 
which  one  may  feel  with  a  probe  a 
fluctuating  fluid,  which  is  that  hy- 
drophobic virus.  The  usual  time 
of  their  appearance  seems  to  be  be- 
tween the  third  and  ninth  day  after 
flie  bite ;  and  if  they  are  not  opened 
within  the  first  twenty-four  hours  af- 
ter their  formation,  the  poison  is  re- 
absorbed into  the  body,  and  the  pa- 
tient is  lost  beyond  the  power  of  cure. 
For  this  reason  Mr.  Marochetti  re- 
commends that  such  patients  should 
be  immediately  examined  under  the 
tongue,  which  should  be  continued 
for  six  weeks,  during  which  time 
they  should  take  daily  one  pound  and 
a  half  of  the  decoction  of  broom 
(or  four  times  a  day  the  powder,  1 
drachm  pro  closi).  If  the  knots  do 
not  appear  in  this  time,  no  madness 
is  to  be  apprehended ;  but  as  soon 
as  they  shew  themselves,  they  should 
be  opened  with  a  lancet,  and  then 
cauterized,  and  the  patient  should 
gargle  assiduously  with  the  above- 
mentioned  decoction. 

"  We  hasten  to  communicate  to 
our  readers  this  important  disco- 
very (which  we  borrow  from  the 
'Petersburg  Miscellaneous  Treatises 
in  the  Sciences,  for  1821,')  which 
certainly  deserves  the  full  attention 
of  all  medical  practitioners ;  and 
which,  if  confirmed  by  experience, 
may  have  the  most  beneficial  results." 
H 


50 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Mozart's  Six   Grand  Symphonies, 
arranged  for  the  Piano-forte,  with 
Accompaniments  of  Flute,  Violin, 
and  Violoncello,  by  J.  N.  Hum- 
mel, Maitre   tie  Chapelle  to  the 
Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar.     Nos.  I. 
and  II.     Pr.  8s.  6d.  each ;  with- 
out Accompaniments,  Gs. — (Print- 
ed and  sold  for  the  Proprietor  by 
Chappell  and  Co.  New  Bond-st.) 
When  a  composer  of  such  talents 
and  celebrity  as  Hummel  undertakes 
the  arduous  task  of  adapting  the  most 
classic  of  Mozart's  symphonies  for 
the  piano-forte,  we  are  warranted  in 
expecting  a  work  of  a  superior  stamp ; 
and  such  was  our  impression  when 
we  saw  the  first  promise  of  the  pub- 
lication.    But  we  candidly  own,  with 
all  the  high  opinion  we  entertained 
of  Mr.  H.  we  did  not  anticipate  the 
excellence,  the  absolute  perfection, 
which  we  behold  in  every  page,  we 
may  say  in  every  line,  of  this  arrange- 
ment.    We  are  astonished,  we  are 
filled  with  admiration !  The  present 
piano-forte  extract  does  not  consist 
of  a  mere  sprinkling  allotment  of  the 
principal  notes  in  the  score :  it  shews, 
at  the  first  view,  that  the  adapter  ab- 
solutely analyzed  and  dissected  his 
original,  and  remodelled  the  whole 
mass  into  the  more  contracted  mould 
into  which  he  had  determined  to  cast 
the  materials.     It  is  equally  obvious, 
that  in  the  accomplishment  of  this 
design,  the  utmost  care  and  diligence 
were  not  the  only  assistants  that  guid- 
ed the  pen;  a  constant  exercise  of 
sound  musical  judgment  and  science 
is  every  where  apparent.     In  fact, 
Mozart's  symphonies  may  here  be 
said  to  have  been  converted  into  a 
species  of  piano-forte  concertos,  in 
which  harmonic  combination  and  ful- 


ness, rather  than  passages  of  execu- 
tion, constitute  the  points  of  interest 
and  difficulty.  An  arrangement  like 
this  we  never  saw  before,  and  we 
doubt  whether  it  will  be  our  good 
fortune  to  behold  the  like  hereafter. 
It  will  form  a  feature  in  the  history 
of  the  art,  and  will  ever  remain  a 
model  for  similar  undertakings. 

The  three  accessory  instruments 
are  less  strongly  charged  than  we 
expected.  This  no  doubt  was  inten- 
tionally done.  Their  parts  are  there- 
by rendered  more  easy ;  and,  what 
is  of  greater  moment,  the  piano- 
forte has  by  that  means  been  ena- 
bled to  dispense  with  the  accompa- 
niments. The  two  numbers  before 
us  consist  of  the  two  grand  classic 
symphonies  in  D  major  and  G  minor. 
Mr.  Hummel,  we  are  informed,  is 
at  this  moment  employed  in  arrang- 
ing the  piano-forte  concertos  of  Mo- 
zart in  a  manner  similar  to  these 
symphonies.  By  so  doing,  he  will 
accomplish  what  has  long  been  a  pi- 
ous wish  of  amateurs,  inasmuch  as 
the  limited  circulation  these  incom- 
parable concertos  have  hitherto  en- 
joyed, is  owing  to  the  obligato  na- 
ture of  the  accompaniments,  which 
rendered  it  impossible  to  perform 
them  satisfactorily  without  the  assist- 
ance of  a  full  orchestra. 
Grand  Variations  on  "  the  Fall  of 
Paris"  for  the  Piano-forte,  by 
Ignace  Moscheles.  Pr.  6s. — (Boo- 
sey  and  Co.  Holies-street.) 
The  circumstance  of  our  noticing 
these  brilliant  and  universally  favour- 
ite variations  at  so  late  a  period  af- 
ter their  first  publication,  is  attended 
with  some  advantage.  We  need  not 
waste  many  words  in  their  recom- 
mendation.    They  have  since  made 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


51 


their  way  with  surprising  rapidity 
into  the  musical  library  of  almost 
every  amateur  of  any  pretension  in 
this  country,  and  have  been  played 
by  Mr.  Moscheles  himself  on  seve- 
ral occasions  at  public  concerts,  and 
at  the  last  oratorios.  Half  the  town 
has  thus  heard  them  with  expressions 
of  rapture  never  bestowed,  in  an 
equal  degree,  upon  the  best  piano- 
forte performances.  These  varia- 
tions really  are  masterly  and  delight- 
ful. As  a  further  distinguishing  fea- 
ture, we  may  mention  the  beautiful 
"  Tutti,"  which  intervene  between 
each  variation.  Although  originally 
written  for  piano -fortes  of  the  pre- 
sent extended  scale,  and  so  printed 
here,  additional  staves  are  given  in 
this  edition,  which  not  only  confine 
the  execution  between  the  ordinary 
range  of  six  octaves,  but,  in  other 
respects,  render  it  less  difficult. 
L' Aurora.  d'Italia,  osla  Scelta  rac- 
colta  dei  Pezzi  favoriti  delta  Mu- 
sa  Italiana  Moderna  per  esempio 
degli  Signori  Rossini,  Caraffa, 
Coccia,  General!,  Mercadante, 
Mosca,  Pavesi,  §'c.  per  il  Canto, 
con  Accomp.  di  Piano-forte.  No.  I. 
Pr.  8s. —  (Boosey  and  Co.) 
Messrs.  Boosey  and  Co.  state  the 
object  of  this  work  to  be  the  publi- 
cation of  original  manuscripts  by 
the  above-mentioned  eminent  mas- 
ters, or  of  such  of  their  compositions 
as  have  been  highly  applauded  in 
Italy,  and  are  unknown  in  this  coun- 
try; at  the  same  time  not  neglecting 
the  operas  performed  at  the  King's 
Theatre.  Each  number  is  to  con- 
tain thirty  pages;  its  price  7s.  to 
subscribers — to  non-subscribers,  8s. 
Although  "  La  Donna  del  Lago" 
is  by  this  time  well  known  in  Lon- 
don, few  will  find  fault  with  the  pub- 
lishers for  devoting  the  commencing 


number  to  that  opera,  and  proposing 
to  continue  it  in  the  next.  There  is 
a  peculiar  charm  and  sweetness  in 
the  melodies,  and  more  originality 
than  Rossini  is  in  the  habit  of  allot- 
ting to  a  single  opera  of  his.  Hence 
the  music  has  increased  in  attraction 
on  every  performance  at  the  King's 
Theatre. 

In  the  present  number  we  trace 
every  thing  that  is  worth  having  in 
the  first  act  (except  the  beautiful 
quintett  "  Crudele  Sospetto,"  which 
appears  to  be  intended  for  the  second 
number);  viz. 

"  Oh  mattutini  Albori."  —  Cavatina. 
"  Scendi  nel  pieeol  legno." — Duet. 
"  Elena,  oh  tuch'  io  chiamo." — Cavatina. 
"  Vivere  io  non  potro." — Duet. 
"  Quanto  a  quest'  alma  amante." — Ter- 
zctt.  (Finale.) 

The  introduction  to  the  opera,  al- 
though it  is  scarcely  vocal,  is  so  fine 
and  original  a  composition,  that  it 
might  without  impropriety  have  been 
included.  As  to  the  arrangement, 
we  are  warranted  in  pronouncing  it 
so  skilful,  complete,  and  effective, 
that  we  can  only  express  a  wish  that 
equal  care  may  be  employed  in  the 
progress  of  the  work,  the  object,  ele- 
gance, and  reasonableness  of  which, 
bid  fair  to  give  it  a  very  extended 
circulation.  We  could  wish  the  time 
were  metronomically  marked;  the 
right  tempo  is  so  essential  in  vocal 
music. 

Selection  of  Songs,  Duets,  §c.  from 

the  most  admired  German  Operas, 

ivit/i  English  Words,  by  Thomas 

Campbell,  Esq.    Nos.  I.  and  II. 

Pr.  2s.  each. — (Boosey  and  Co.) 

Each  of  these  numbers  contains  a 

piece  from  the  German  opera  "  Der 

Freyschiitz,"  of  which  some  account 

was  given  in  our  preceding  Number. 

Not  being  in  possession  of  the  ori- 

H  2 


52 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


ginal  words,  we  cannot  give  an  opi- 
nion as  to  general  correctness  of  the 
English  translation,  which  after  all 
is  a  consideration  of  minor  import- 
ance in  the  present  publication.  At 
all  events,  Mr.  Campbell's  verses  are 
worthy  of  his  name,  and  suitable  to 
the  general  import  of  the  musical 
periods.  In  No.  I.  we  find  a  little 
chorus  of  rather  a  light  musical  tex- 
ture. No.  II.  contains  an  air  in  four 
flats,  of  greater  pretension,  and  of 
considerable  interest  and  originality 
of  idea.  The  English  words  accord 
well  with  the  melody,  although  there 
are  some  exceptions,  which  are  less 
to  be  attributed  to  the  poet  than  to 
the  adapter  of  the  music,  if  any 
adapter  existed  for  the  English  text. 
In  p.  3,  for  instance,  the  line  "  The 
hour  that  bids  us  part,"  is  musically 
scanned, "  The  hour  that,"  &c.  An- 
other line,  "  And  death  seems  in  the 
word  farewell,"  sits  also  rather  awk- 
wardly under  the  music,  the  quicker 
notes  having  too  many  words  allotted 
to  them. 

In  adaptations  of  this  kind,  it  is 
not  sufficient  that  the  poet  should 
furnish  his  translation  strictly  cor- 
respondent with  the  metre  of  the 
original.  The  music  generally  re- 
quires some  slight  further  qualifica- 
tion as  to  accompaniment  and  syllabic 
arrangement,  giving,  taking,  &c. — 
This  seems  to  have  been  wanting 
here  in  some  instances  at  least,  and 
we  advert  to  the  circumstance  by 
way  of  hint  for  the  future  num- 
bers. 

"  Que  e  71  of  every  moving  measure" 
the  Words  by  Warton,  composed, 
and  dedicated  to  Eliza  Fontaine, 
by  J.  F.  Danneley.  Pr.  Is.  Gd. — 
(Chappell  and  Co.) 
This  song  is  written  in  a  vein  of 
chaste  feeling,  which,  independently 


of  its  accessory  merits,  cannot  fail  to 
charm  the  ear  of  good  taste.  The 
principal  motivo  is  conceived  with 
tender  pathetic  simplicity;  the  ac- 
companiment is  rich  and  diversified ; 
and  some  short  connecting  phrases 
are  highly  interesting.  A  second 
strain  in  E  minor,  p.  3,  also  calls  for 
distinct  and  favourable  mention.  Be- 
sides its  melodic  attraction,  it  exhi- 
bits some  modulations  of  no  common 
order.  The  13th  bar  of  p.  2  we 
deem  objectionable;  the  chords  C», 
3  and  13,  3  »,  as  here  treated,  leav- 
ing an  impression  of  consecutive  fifths 
on  the  ear.  In  the  triplet  accompa- 
niment the  melodic  notes  of  the  voice 
might  have  been  less  closely  followed. 
We  had  almost  omitted  to  speak  of 
the  rhythm,  the  regularity  and  ge- 
neral propriety  of  which  add  greatly 
to  the  value  of  the  composition. 
Glee  for  four  Voices,  written  by  W. 
Sheperd,  composed,  and  dedicated 
to  Dr.  Crotch,  by  J.  M'Murdie, 
Mus.  Bac.  Oxon.  Pr.  3s.— (Cle- 
menti  and  Co.) 

Want  of  space  prevents  us  from 
entering  into  an  analysis  of  this  glee, 
which  contains  many  beauties  de- 
serving of  special  comment.  It  is 
altogether  a  manly,  highly  interest- 
ing and  scientific  composition;  in  fact, 
it  exhibits,  more  or  less,  every  at- 
traction we  seek  in  a  vocal  quartett 
of  this  class.  The  melodies  in  F 
minor  and  F  major  are  good,  and 
uncommonly  well  adapted  to  the 
text :  the  arrangement  of  the  parts, 
their  fundamental  harmony,  their  oc- 
casional canonic  treatment,  their  in- 
dividual melodic  progress,  demand 
our  unqualified  approbation.  In  short, 
the  whole  glee  exhibits  a  union  of 
taste  and  matured  science,  which 
greatly  elevates  it  above  the  usual 
productions  of  this  description. 


MUSICAL    UK  VIEW 


5.3 


"  The  Champion  Waltz"  Rondo 
for  the  Piano-forte,  composed,  and 
dedicated  to  Miss  Fleet,  by  J. 
Monro.  Pr.  2s. —  (Monro,  Skin- 
ner-street.) 

This  is  not  Beethoven  or  Mo- 
scheles,  nor  meant  to  be  such ;  but 
it  is  a  sensible,  and,  we  may  add,  a 
very  pretty  thing.  The  melodies  are 
good,  fresh,  attractive,  and  facile ; 
the  treatment  clear,  unaffected,  and 
intelligible;  the  digressive  portions 
in  character  and  good  keeping;  and 
the  harmonies  correct,  adequate,  and 
effective.  In  short,  the  Champion 
rondo  is  just  such  a  piece  as  we 
would  wish  to  place  before  a  pupil 
of  eight  or  twelve  months'  training, 
although  such  as  are  further  ad- 
vanced could  not  help  being  pleased 
with  it. 

"  Orythia,"  Air  Fantasia  for  the 
Piano-forte,  composed,  and  dedi- 
cated to  Miss  Bulwer,  by  E. 
Woodward.  Pr.  2s.  —  (Monro, 
Skinner-street.) 

Likewise  a  waltz  subject,  cast  into 
the  form  of  a  rondo,  with  a  Scotch 
tune  intervening.  Amidst  several 
commendable  and  pleasing  concep- 
tions, we  observe  some  ideas  of  an 
awkward  and  heterogeneous  com- 
plexion, and  some  hard-featured  pas- 
sages, such  as  the  bottom  lines  of 
p.  & 

In  general,  the  different  melodic 
thoughts  seem  to  want  connection ; 
they  do  not  naturally  arise  out  of 
each  other,  are  not  children  of  the 
same  family,  as  it  were.  Some  of  the 
modulations  are  forcible  and  striking, 
such  as  11.  S  and  7  in  the  4th  page, 
and  the  author  winds  himself  through 
with  credit.  If  this  rondo  is  an  early 
essay,  we  should  augur  well  of  future 
efforts,  as  further  experience  would 
tend  to  smooth  the  style  and  prune 


|  some   of  the   extraneous   and  Avild 
|  shoots  of  fancy  which  here  present 
!  themselves. 
Ode  to  Spring,  a  Pastoral  Glee; 
the  Words  by  R.  Gooch,  Esq.  of 
St.  Johns    College,    Cambridge, 
composed  by  Saml.Webbe.  Pr.2s. 
— (Hodsoll,  High-Holborn.) 
Viewed  as  a  composition  in  a  style 
which,  although  now  nearly  obsolete, 
maintains    its    admirers,    this     glee 
claims   considerable   attention.      Its 
melodies,  in   the    solos,   duets,  and 
parts  a  trc,  are,  generally,  of  this 
description;  and  some  of  these,  al- 
!  though  not  of  modern  complexion, 
J  are  clear,  natural,  and  appropriate. 
j  Of  this  nature  is  the  duet  p.  4,  and 
more    particularly  the  f  movement 
j  fa  tre),  pp.  8  and  9,  which  presents 
melodic  periods   of  unquestionable 
interest,  and  is  supported  by  a  very 
clever  accompaniment.     To  the  alle- 
gretto, p.  6,  and  especially  the  bass 
solo,  we  cannot  profess  great  parti- 
ality.    The  melody  of  the  latter  is 
uninteresting  in  itself,  and  certainly 
too  stern  and  hard  for  the  lightsome 
and  joyous  text. 

The  harmonic  arrangement  exhi- 
bits many  features  of  science  and 
skilful  contrivance,  good  imitations, 
and  passages  of  considerable  contra- 
puntal artifice. 

Rossini's  much  admired  Overture 
and  Introduction  to  the  Opera  of 
"  La  Donna  del  Lago"  perform- 
ed at  the  King's  Theatre,  arrang- 
ed for  the  Piano-forte,  with  Ac- 
companiments for  a  Flute,  Violin, 
and  Violoncello  (ad  lib.),  by  S.  F. 
Ilimbault.  Pr.  8s.;  without  Ac- 
companinents,  2s. — (Hodsoll.) 
"  In  ?nor /ling's  dawn  no  hope  I  see" 
the  popular  Cavatina  sung  by  Sig- 
nor  Cnrioni,  with  the  Harp  Ac- 
companiment in  "  La  Donna  del 


54 


EXHIBITION    OF    THE    BRITISH    INSTITUTION. 


La  go"  composed  by  Signor  Ros- 
sini. Pr.  Is. — (Hodsoll.) 
The  above  introduction  to  La 
Donna  del  Lago  (overture  it  cannot 
be  called)  is  one  of  the  happiest  pro- 
ductions of  Rossini's  pen,  full  of  spi- 
rit, good  melody,  and  harmonic  com- 
bination. Mr.  Rimbault's  arrange- 
ment is  unexceptionable ;  it  has  pre- 
served every  interesting  feature  of 
the  original.  We  recommend  it, 
therefore,  strongly  to  our  readers, 
not  hesitating  to  pledge  our  credit 
with  them,  that  they  will  be  delight- 
ed with  the  piece. 

The  vocal  cavatina  is  a  free  and 
pretty  fair  translation  of  "  Aurora 
che  sorgerai,"  of  which  the  Italian 
words  are   likewise  given.     It  is  a 
lovely  little  jewel,  and  always  encored 
at  the  King's  Theatre.  The  arrange- 
ment being  satisfactory,  we  may  also 
well  recommend  this  shillings-worth 
to  favourable  notice. 
"  When  meteor  lights"  German  Air 
from  "  the  Melodies  of  various 
Nations,"  arranged  by  H.  R.  Bi- 
shop, with  Variations  for  the  Pi- 
ano-forte,- composed,  and  dedicat- 
ed to  Miss  Stamforth,  by  Ferdi- 
nand Ries.  Op.  105.  No.3.  No. 34. 
Var.     Pr.  3s.— (Goulding  &  Co. 
Soho-square.) 

The  above  numbers  and  sub-num- 
bers of  Mr.  Ries's  works  proclaim 


the  fertility  and  assiduity  of  his  pen. 
It  has  of  late  been  rather  too  much 
devoted  to  variation-writing;  but,  as 
artists  of  any  class  cannot  always 
work  for  fame,  we  must  content  our- 
selves with  what  Mr.  R.  dispenses, 
so  long  as  it  is  not  altogether  unwor- 
thy of  his  name.  This  is  the  case 
with  the  present  variations,  the  theme 
of  which  is  a  simple  and  very  origi- 
nal German  air,  particularly  noticed 
in  our  review  of  the  work  quoted  in 
the  title.  The  merit  of  the  subject 
seems  to  have  exerted  an  advantage- 
ous influence  on  the  variations.  They 
are  extremely  interesting,  of  very 
diversified  character,  and  certainly 
not  of  appalling  difficulty.  Excel- 
lent practice. 

"  Home,  sweet  home"  sung  by  Miss 
M.  Tree  in  "  Clari,  or  the  Maid 
of  Milan"  at  the  Theatre  Royal 
Covent  -  Garden,   composed,    and 
partly  founded  on  a  Sicilian  Air, 
by  II.  R.  Bishop.     Pr.  Is.  6d.— 
(Goulding  and  Co.) 
This  air  is  likewise   taken  from 
"  the  Melodies  of  various  Nations," 
above  referred  to.     It  is  a  sweet  sim- 
ple tune ;  but  the  English  text  here 
assigned  to  it,  requires  some  manage- 
ment to  bring  it  smoothly  under  the 
authentic   melody:  it   certainly  was 
never  intended  for  the  musical  me- 
tre of  the  air. 


FINE  ARTS. 


EXHIBITION  OF  THE  BRITISH  INSTITUTION. 


The  present  Exhibition  at  the 
British  Institution  is  composed  of  a 
fine  selection  from  the  pictures  of 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  with  some  dis- 
tinguished works  of  the  Italian,  Spa- 
nish,  Dutch,  and  Flemish  schools. 


The  Directors  of  this  excellent 
and  patriotic  establishment,  in  the 
preface  to  their  catalogue,  hint  at 
the  propriety,  for  the  improvement  of 
our  artists,  of  a  periodical  exhibi- 
tion of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  pic- 


EXHIBITION    OF    THE    BRITISH    INSTITUTION. 


55 


tr.res.  With  great  deference  to  the 
judgment  of  so  many  distinguished 
patrons  of  art,  we  confess  our  ina- 
bility to  comprehend  the  advantage 
of  carrying  such  an  intention  into 
effect,  even  if  a  careful  selection 
could  be  made :  for  although  no  per- 
son can  doubt  the  great  obligations 
due  to  Sir  Joshua,  for  his  restora- 
tion of  British  art  from  the  state  of 
dry  insipidity  and  mere  mannerism 
in  which  he  found  it,  and  for  the 
dignity,  respectability,  and  independ- 
ence which  his  moral  worth  shed 
upon  the  profession  of  which  he  was 
so  great  an  ornament;  yet  the  nature 
of  his  practice,  which  so  exclusively 
confined  him  to  portrait-painting,  the 
inequality  of  his  paintings,  the  fre- 
quent tendency  to  experiment  in  the 
executive  application  of  his  materials, 
laudable  at  the  time,  but,  in  most  in- 
stances, eventually  ineffectual,  would, 
we  think,  present  many  obstacles  to 
the  practical  fulfilment  of  the  hopes 
cherished  from  such  an  exhibition. 
The  students  in  art  cannot  fail  to 
derive  improvement  from  the  contem- 
plation of  Reynolds's  works,  which 
the  industry  of  his  meritorious  life 
distributed  so  generally  throughout 
the  country,  as  to  be  easily  accessible, 
without  being  exposed  to  the  risk  of 
making  copies  indiscriminately  from 
periodical  Exhibitions.  Sir  Joshua 
himself  would  not  have  recommend- 
ed such  a  course;  on  the  contrary,  his 
recommendation  to  the  eccentric  Bar- ' 
ry,  at  Rome,  was  to  study  the  princi-  I 
pies  by  which  that  stupendous  great-  i 
ness  of  style,  which  predominated  in 
the  sublime  works  of  the  Capella 
Sistina,  was  produced,  in  preference 
to  copying  the  St.  Cecilia  in  the  Bor- 
ghese,  or  the  Herodias  of  Guido, 
'  ;~h,  he  adds,  "  may  be  copied  to 
without  contributing  one  jot 


towards  making  a  man  an  able  paint- 
er." The  Discourses  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  at  the  Royal  Academy 
contain  invaluable  information  on  all 
subjects  connected  with  the  study  of 
art,  and  the  unerring  principles  up- 
on which  that  study  should  be  pur- 
sued. 

There  are  sixty-four  of  this  great 
!  artist's  works  in  this  Exhibition,  by 
j  far  the  greater  number  of  course  por- 
traits. Engravings  of  nearly  all  have 
rendered  them  familiar  to  the  public. 
Sterne's  Portrait,  from  Lord  Hol- 
land's collection,  was  first  exhibited 
in  1761  at  the  Spring-Gardens  Room. 
The  Death  of  Dido  and  the  fine  Por- 
traits of  the  Ladies  Waldegrare 
were  in  the  Royal  Academy  in  1781 ; 
the  Cupid  and  Psyche  were  in  it  in 
1789.  The  Portrait  of  the  late 
Duke  of  Orleans  (from  the  collection 
of  his  Majesty,  who  is  a  munificent 
contributor  to  this  Exhibition,)  is  that 
which  was  placed  over  the  chair  of 
the  illustrious  but  unfortunate  origi- 
nal, at  the  grand  dinner  given  to  his 
presentMajesty  previous  to  the  open- 
ing of  the  Royal  Academy  Exhibi- 
tion in  1786.  This  was  a  favourite 
portrait  of  Sir  Joshua,  who  remark- 
ed how  few  persons  appear  with 
grace  and  ease  when  the  arms  are 
wholly  unemployed,  and  that  he  ne- 
ver saw  any  man  stand  in  such  a  po- 
sition so  well  as  the  Duke  of  Or- 
leans. The  Ugolino  in  this  Exhibi- 
tion (from  the  Duchess  of  Dorset's 
collection)  is,  notwithstanding  the 
various  criticisms  upon  its  merits, 
an  eminent  example  of  pathos  and 
force  of  expression.  The  same  ob- 
servation applies  to  the  Death  of  C  or- 
dinal Beaufort.  These  works  in 
general  convey  an  adequate  idea  of 
the  taste  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  of 
the  breadth  and  freedom  of  his  pen- 


56 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


cilling,  and  richness  and  brilliancy 
of  his  colouring,  notwithstanding  the 
occasional  failure  of  his  attempts  to 
attain  that  exquisite  tone  acquired  by 
the  old  masters. 

The  other  pictures  are  by  Ru- 
bens, Both,  Teniers,  Mctzu,  Ostade, 
Wouvermans,  Rembrandt,  Vandyke, 
Claude,  Cuyp,  and  the  other  princi- 


pal masters  who  distinguished  them- 
selves all  over  Europe  after  the  re- 
vival of  painting.  Most  of  them 
have  been  already  exhibited,  and 
they  are  undoubtedly  fine  specimens 
of  the  respective  styles  of  the  artists 
whose  names  they  bear,  and  well  cal- 
culated to  preserve  the  high  reputa- 
tion of  their  talents. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


MORNING    DRESS. 

Dress  of  plain  jaconot  muslin  ;  the 
corsage  made  high,  close  to  the  shape, 
and  fastened  behind.  The  elegant  fa- 
shion of  ornamenting  the  front  of  the 
skirt  has  become  very  prevalent;  that 
in  our  print  has  a  pagoda  trimming 
formed  by  bands  edged  with  cord, 
and  narrow  trimming  of  work  de- 
scending gradually  and  regularly  till 
it  reaches  the  bottom,  where  there  are 
four  narrow  worked  flounces,  each 
headed  by  flat  corded  bands,  the 
upper  one  surmounted  by  a  row  of 
delicate  insertion-work,  the  same  as 
is  introduced  on  each  side  of  the 
pagoda  trimming.  The  corsage  is 
nearly  covered  with  similar  bands, 
corded,  trimmed  and  arranged  on 
clear  book  muslin,  narrow  at  the  waist 
both  in  front  and  back,  but  extend- 
ing the  whole  width  on  the  shoulder: 
falling  collar  of  worked  muslin  leaves ; 
long  sleeve,  nearly  tight;  worked  ruf- 
fle, and  small  pagoda  trimming  at  the 
wrist,  where  it  is  tied  with  primrose- 
colour  ribbon  drawn  through  a  nar- 
row pufling  of  book  muslin :  the 
epaulette  is  divided  in  the  centre, 
and  tied  at  the  top  in  a  bow,  and 
trimmed  with  a  row  of  puffed  book 
muslin  and  narrow  work. 


Round  morning  cap  of  sprigged 
net  satin,  and  primrose-colour  gauze 
ribbon;  border  of  British  Mechlin 
lace,  plain  in  the  front,  and  in  large 
puffs  on  each  side.  Primrose -colour 
kid  shoes  and  eloves. 


BALL   DRESS. 

British  tulle  dress  worn  over  a 
white  satin  slip:  the  corsage  compos- 
ed of  white  satin  bands,  branching 
from  the  front;  each  band  corded 
and  trimmed  with  narrow  blond ;  two 
bands  continue  over  the  shoulder, 
and  renew  the  same  trimming  at  the 
back:  the  sleeve  is  of  the  melon  form, 
with  sprays  of  satin  confining  the 
tulle ;  in  the  centre  is  a  circular  space, 
occasioned  b;  the  omission  of  the  sa- 
tin, and  a  cluster  of  China  roses  is  in- 
troduced, which  has  a  novel  and  ele- 
gant effect.  The  tucker  is  of  fine 
blond,  surmounting  a  satin  band  of 
French  folds ;  from  the  wrist  descends 
a  succession  of  small  oval  baskets  of 
tulle,  edged  with  white  satin,  each 
containing  a  China  rose  and  leaves : 
three  rows  of  the  same  light  taste- 
ful baskets  are  continued  round  the 
bottom  of  the  dress,  which  '''^SiAfbi- 
edwith  a. broad  white  s?','  1#ltis'a  pic- 


GENERAL   OBSERVATION*   GN    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


57 


white  satin  sash,  with  double  how  he- 
hind. 

Milanese  head-dress,  composed  of 
thirteen  pins,  two  stationary  and  one 
pendant  ball;  the  pins  are  of  gold, 
with  the  heads  of  patent  pearl,  and 
are  stack  circularly  in  a  plaited  band 
of  the  hind  hair:  this  is  a  very  pret- 
ty novel  head-dress,  and  accords 
with  the  grace  of  feminine  beauty  and 
youthful  fancy.  Necklace,  ear-rings, 
and  bracelets,  of  embossed  gold  and 
pink  topazes  interspersed.  White 
kid  gloves,  with  a  quilling  of  blond 
at  the  top ;  white  satin  shoes,  and  a 
rose-bud  introduced  in  the  centre  of 
the  white  satin  rosette. 


GENERAL  OBSERVATIONS  ON  FASHION 
AND    DRESS. 

Notwithstanding  the  warmth  of 
the  weather,  plain  promenade  dress 
has  a  heavier  appearance  than  is  usu- 
al at  this  time  of  year,  owing  to  pe- 
lisses and  high  silk  dresses  being  so 
much  in  favour.  Leghorn  and  plain 
and  fancy  straw  are  the  materials 
most  used  for  bonnets,  but  the  latter 
article  is  not  much  in  estimation. 

Carriage  or  dress  promenade  cos- 
tume is  extremely  light  and  tasteful; 
but  we  have  noticed  only  one  decid- 
ed novelty,  that  is,  a  spencer  a  laji- 
chu:  it  is  made  in  white  lace  over 
peach-blossom  coloured  satin,  fastens 
in  front  with  lozenge  buttons  to  cor- 
respond in  colour,  comes  up  to  the 
neck,  but  without  a  collar,  and  is  fi- 
nished round  the  throat  by  a  deep 
lace  frill:  a  double  pelerine,  pointed 
behind  and  at  the  ends,  and  having 
the  upper  part  more  shallow  than  the 
under,  is  disposed  round  the  back  in 
a  bouillonne,  fastened  from  distance 
to  distance  by  lozenge  buttons,  and 
the  ends  hang  loosely  from  the  point  . 

Vol,  II.  No.  VII. 


of  each  shoulder,  a  little  below  the 
waist.  The  sleeve  is  made  an  easy 
width,  and  finished  at  the  hand  with 
bouillonne  intermixed  with  peach- 
blossomed  gimp.  The  ceinture  cor- 
responds in  colour,  and  is  fastened 
either  with  a  gold  or  silver  buckle. 

We  have  noticed  also  a  carriage 
pelisse  of  sprigged  net,  with  the  shape 
of  the  corsage  marked  out  by  letting- 
in  lace :  this  is  rather  an  advantage- 
ous style  of  corsage  for  a  fine  figure, 
but  it  has  something  of  a  formal  air. 
The  trimming  of  this  pelisse  is  very 
pretty ;  it  consists  of  a  bouillonne  of 
net  formed  by  branches  of  bright 
green  satin  leaves,  laid  on  from  dis- 
tance to  distance  in  a  bias  direction : 
this  trimming  goes  only  round  the 
bottom,  the  front  being  fastened  up 
by  bows  of  bright  green  satin,  to 
correspond  with  the  trimming  and 
lining  of  the  pelisse.  The  epaulette 
corresponds  with  the  trimming  of  the 
skirt. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  variety  in 
the  shape  of  bonnets:  they  are  all, 
however,  of  a  moderate  size ;  indeed 
in  some  instances  rather  small,  par- 
ticularly those  of  the  cottage  shape. 
Flowers  are  much  in  favour,  and 
down  feathers  equally  so :  the  latter 
either  correspond  with  the  bonnet, 
or  have  an  intermixture,  as  rose  and 
white,  blue  and  white,  &c.  &c.  The 
prettiest  among  the  transparent  bon- 
nets are  those  in  blond  net,  embroi- 
dered in  floss  silk  round  the  edge  of 
the  brim  and  on  the  crown:  these 
bonnets  are  always  adorned  with 
flowers  and  gauze  ribbons. 

Cambric  muslin  is  more  used  than 
it  has  been  for  several  seasons  in 
morning  dress.  Open  robes,  with 
petticoats  worked  to  correspond,  are 
more  in  favour  than  flounced  dresses. 


58 


FRENCH    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


Jaconot  muslin  gowns  embroidered 
in  colours  are  very  fashionable  in 
half-dress:  some  are  trimmed  with 
flounces  lightly  embroidered  round 
the  edge;  others  are  worked  at  the 
bottom  of  the  skirt  in  a  large  snowy 
pattern :  the  ground  of  the  dress  has 
usually  a  small  sprig  to  correspond  in 
colour.  The  bodies  are  made  tight 
to  the  shape,  in  some  instances  half 
high,  and  always  with  long  sleeves. 
The  favourite  colours  for  these  dress- 
es are,  mignonette-green,  lilac,  rose, 
and  straw  colour. 

Full  dress  is  at  present  simple  and 
tasteful,  rather  than  rich:  the  fa- 
vourite materials  for  young  ladies' 
dresses  are,  gauze,  tulle,  and  net, 
over  white,  or  in  some  instances  co- 
loured satin.  The  trimmings  consist 
of  an  intermixture  of  satin  with  the 


material  of  the  dress,  or  else  a  boiril- 
lonnt  mingled  with  flowers,  gauze 
ribbons,  or  satin  shells.  The  cor- 
sage usually  fastens  behind,  and  the 
bust  continues  to  be  much  ornament- 
ed. Waists  are  still  very  long,  backs 
narrow  at  bottom,  and  short  sleeves 
very  full.  The  hair  continues  to  be 
dressed  low  behind,  and  full  on  the 
temples.  Flowers  are  much  in  fa- 
vour for  the  hair  in  full  dress,  but 
jewels  we  think  more  so.  Pearls  in- 
termixed with  coloured  stones  are 
very  much  used.  Indian  and  Turk- 
ish turbans  are  in  favour  with  ma- 
tronly belles:  they  are  ornamented 
with  feathers,  and  sometimes  with 
jewels. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  pale  blue, 
mignonette-green,  lilac,  rose  colour, 
bright  green,  and  straw  colour. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  June  18. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

Silk  is  now  very  little  seen  in 
the  public  promenades,  gowns  being 
either  of  bareges,  coloured  muslin, 
or  cambric  muslin.  The  bareges  are 
such  as  I  have  before  described :  the 
coloured  muslins  have  always  a  white 
ground  nearly  covered  with  a  run- 
ning pattern.  Citron,  green,  and  li- 
lac are  the  colours  most  in  favour ; 
these  are  likewise  the  favourite  co- 
lours for  bareges:  the  latter  are  a 
good  deal  trimmed  with  satin  tucks, 
triangles,  and  deep  flounces  of  the 
material  of  the  gown.  The  deep 
tucks  at  the  bottom  of  some  cambric 
muslin  blouses  have  been  superseded 
in  some  measure  by  entre-deux  of 
embroidery,  placed  between  clusters 
of  small  tucks,  put  five  or  six  toge- 
ther. Waists  are  something  longer. 
Scarfs,  &c.  continue   to   be  of  the 


light  kind  I  described  in  my  last,  with 
the  addition,  however,  of  China  crape 
scarfs,  which  now  begin  to  be  as  fa- 
shionable as  those  of  lace  or  bareges. 
Bonnets  are  mostly  of  gauze,  crape, 
or  rice-straw :  we  see,  however,  still 
some  in  silk  and  cotton  straw :  these 
latter  are  adorned  with  bands  of  the 
same  material,  and  finished  by  trian- 
gles of  alternate  red  and  green  satin. 
The  newest  promenade  chapeau  is 
the  gleaner's  hat;  it  is  of  the  gipsy 
form,  and  composed  partly  of  straw 
and  partly  of  satin:  this  hat  is  always 
trimmed  with  ears  of  ripe  corn,  of 
which  there  is  a  bouquet  round  the 
crown,  and  some  also  scattered  round 
the  edge  of  the  brim,  and  even  un- 
der the  edge.  Rice-straw  hats  are 
frequently  adorned  with  a  bareges 
scarf  twisted  round  the  crown,  and 
tied  at  the  side.  Some  transparent 
hats    are   embroidered  in  coloui'ed 


FASHIONABLE    FURNITURE. 


59 


silks :  the  favourite  ornament  of  this 
description  is  a  garland  of  ivy  round 
the  brim.  There  is  so  much  variety 
in  the  trimmings  of  hats,  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say  what  is  most  in 
favour ;  flowers,  bareges  scarfs,  gauze 
ribbons,  ripe  corn,  and  down  feathers, 
being  all  worn. 

Crepe  lisse,  figured  gauze,  and 
white  bareges,  are  all  in  favour  in 
full  dress.  The  sultane  is  still  very 
much  worn,  but  if  the  dress  is  long, 
it  more  than  touches  the  ground.  The 
corsage  continues  to  be  finished  in 
the  stomacher  style  with  satin,  blond, 
&c.  A  good  many  dresses  have  the 
bust  cut  in  the  form  of  a  V,  which  is 
certainly  advantageous  to  the  shape. 
Gowns  are  cut  very  low  round  the 
bust;  the  skirts  are  moderately  trim- 
med. Flowers  and  embroidery  are 
more  used  than  any  thing  else  for 
trimmings:  the  embroidery  is  ex- 
tremely beautiful ;  it  is  done  in  floss 


silk,  with  a  mixture  of  satin,  chenille, 
or  pearl  beads.  The  ceiniure  is 
worn  very  broad :  sashes  and  girdles 
are  equally  in  favour.  The  hair,  ex- 
cept for  youthful  belles,  is  a  good 
deal  covered  in  full  dress.  Toques, 
turbans,  and  dress  caps  are  all  worn, 
as  well  as  dress  hats  with  small 
brims,  which  have  a  lining  in  the 
form  of  a  fan.  These  hats  are  adorn- 
ed with  ostrich-feathers,  one  half  of 
which  is  white  and  the  other  colour- 
ed, or  else  with  white  or  corn-colour- 
ed marabouts.  I  see  that  in  speak- 
ing of  promenade  costume,  I  have 
forgotten  to  tell  you,  that  our  fa- 
shionable shoes  are  brun  solitaire,  or 
violet  leather,  or  black  Turkish  sa- 
tin. 

Fashionable  colours  are  the  same 
as  last  month.  Adieu,  via  chere  So- 
phie! Ever  your 

Eudocia. 


FASHIONABLE    FURNITURE. 


CHAIRS. 


The  annexed  plate  represents 
three  varieties  of  chairs,  designed 
for  apartments  in  the  first  style  of 
elegance.  The  middle  chair  is  in- 
tended for  the  boudoir,  for  which  it 
would  form  an  elegant  appendage : 
it  is  highly  wrought  in  all  its  parts, 
and  requires  to  be  carefully  finished. 
The  frame  should  be  burnished  gold. 
The  seat  and  back  are  formed  of 
richly  figured  light  blue  silk.  Per- 
sian fringe  is  suspended  from  the 
seat  and  from  the  top  of  the  back, 
while  the  front  is  finished  with  broad 
gokl  lace.  The  chair  to  the  left  of 
the  above  is  intended  for  the  draw- 
ing-room: it  is  an  eleorant  Grecian 


form :  the  wood-work  is  richly  finish- 
ed in  burnished  and  matt  gold ;  the 
seat  and  back  of  green  velvet,  reliev- 
ed with  a  blue  or  black  band.  Rich 
figured  silk  may  be  substituted,  of  a 
colour  to  suit  the  drapery  of  the  room. 
The  third  chair  is  of  mahogany,  and 
designed  for  the  parlour :  the  orna- 
ments are  carved  in  the  same  wood 
as  the  frame  of  the  chair;  the  legs 
are  turned  and  beaded :  the  con- 
tinued lines  on  the  frame  should  also 
be  beaded.  The  seat  is  covered  with 
red  morocco  leather,  which,  combin- 
ed with  the  colour  of  the  wood,  pro- 
duces a  warm  and  rich  appearance. 

I  2 


60 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


Mr.  Landseer  is  preparing  for  publi-  \ 
cation  Sabftan  Researches,  in  a  series  of 
essays,  addressed  to  distinguished  anti-  i 
quaries,  and  including  the  substance  of  a  j 
course  of  lectures,  delivered  at  the  Roy-  j 
al  Institution  of  Great  Britain,  on  the  j 
engraved  Hieroglyphics  of  Chaldea,  \ 
Egypt,  and  Canaan,  illustrated  with  en- 
gravings of  Babylonian  cylinders,  and 
other  inedited  monuments  of  antiquity. 

Michael  Quin  has  in  the  press  A  Visit 
to  Spain ;  detailing  the  transactions  which 
occurred  during  a  residence  in  that  coun- 
try in  the  latter  part  of  1822,  and  the 
first  four  months  of  1823:  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  removal  of  the  court  from 
Madrid  to  Seville;  and  general  notices 
of  the  manners,  customs,  costume,  and 
music  of  the  country,  in  an  8vo.  volume. 

A  member  of  the  University  of  Oxford 
will  speedily  publish,  A  Voice  from  St. 
Peter's  and  St.  Paul's,  or  a  few  plain 
words  addressed  to  the  members  of  both 
Houses  of  Parliament,  on  the  recent  at- 
tacks on  the  church  establishment,  parti- 
cularly those  in  the  75th  Number  of  the 
Edinburgh  Review. 

Sir  John  Malcolm  is  preparing  for  pub- 
lication, in  two  vols.  8vo.  A  Memoir  of 
Central  India,  with  the  history  and  copi- 
ous illustrationsof  the  past  and  pre  sent 
condition  of  that  country. 

The  Rev.  Henry  Card  has  been  for 
some  time  engaged  in  preparing  A  Life  of 
Bishop  Burnet,  drawn  from  papers  partly 
preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  and 
partly  in  the  archives  of  one  or  two  no- 
ble families. 

The  author  of  "  The  Farmer's  Boy" 
is  about  to  appear  again  before  the  pub- 
lic in  a  drama  in  three  acts,  interspersed  j 
with  songs,  entitled  Hazclivood  Hall. 

A  poem  by  the  late  Dr.  Archibald  j 
Mac  Leod,  entitled  Ellen  Gray,  or  a  j 
Maiden's  Curse,  is  in  the  press. 

Mr.  Charles  Dubois  is  about  to  pub- 
lish, in  a  small  volume,  An  Introduction 
to  Lamarck' s  Arrangement  of  the  Genera 


of  Shells ;  being  a  free  translation  of  that 
part  of  his  work  which  treats  on  Mol- 
lusca  with  testaceous  coverings. 

A  J  our  mil  of  a  Tour  in  France  in 
1816  and  1817,  by  Frances  Jane  Carey, 
is  preparing  for  publication  in  an  8vo. 
volume. 

Mr.  Wright,  accountant,  will  publish 
in  a  few  days,  for  the  use  of  commercial 
gentlemen,  The  New  Mercantile  Assistant 
and  General  Cheque- Book,  containing 
nine  copious  and  distinct  sets  of  tables 
of  calculations  of  most  frequent  occur- 
rence in  trade. 

The  author  of  "  Dangerous  Errors" 
has  in  the  press,  a  tale,  entitled  Influence 
and  Example,  or  the  Recluse, 

A  new  edition  of  The  Diversions  of 
Purler/,  by  the  celebrated  John  Home 
Tooke,  is  printing  in  two  8vo.  volumes, 
from  the  copy  corrected  and  considera- 
bly enlarged  by  the  author,  and  hitherto 
in  the  possession  of  his  executors. 

Warton's  History  of  English  Poetry, 
embracing  a  large  body  of  notes,  by  the 
late  Dr.  Ashby,  the  late  Mr.  Ritson, 
Mr.  Douce,  and  other  eminent  antiqua- 
ries, together  with  the  copious  illustra- 
tions and  additions  of  Mr. Thomas  Park,  is 
nearly  ready  for  publication.  The  spe- 
cimens of  poetry  have  all  been  collated 
with  the  original '  MSS.  or  editions  of 
acknowledged  merit,  and  the  numerous 
errors  arising  from  inattention  at  the 
press,  or  in  transcribing  the  author's  co- 
py, have  been  carefully  avoided. 

The  public  will,  we  doubt  not,  be  gra- 
tified to  learn,  that  a  print  is  about  to  be 
executed  by  Mr.  Sharp,  from  the  fine 
portrait  of  the  late  Dr.  .Tenner,  in  the 
possession  of  his  nephew,  Mr.  Edward 
Davies,  which  was  painted  by  Mr.  Hob- 
day of  Pall-Mall,  in  the  autumn  of  1 82 1 , 
and  was  exhibited  at  the  Royal  Acade- 
my last  season.  The  admirers  of  the  de- 
ceased will  by  this  means  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  possessing  a  most  correct  like- 
ness of  one,  whose  life  di?played  an  in- 


INTELLIGENCE,    LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


61 


teresting  scene  of  genuine  and  pure  phi- 
lanthropy, and  who  died  regretted  by 
by  all  who  esteem  the  excellencies  of  a 
valued  and  respected  character.  The 
print  will  be  of  the  same  size,  and  exe- 
cuted in  the  same  style,  as  the  celebrated 
portrait  of  J  ohn  Hunter,  from  the  paint- 
ing by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds.  It  will 
possess  a  peculiar  interest  for  the  admir- 
ers of  art,  as  being  positively  the  last 
work  whicli  the  public  may  expect  from 
the  admirable  graver  of  Mr.  Sharp.  A 
pi^spectus  may  be  had  at  Mr.  Acker- 
mann  ». 

The  SocWy  of  Painters  in  Water-Co- 
lours  have  closed  their  annual  Exhibi- 
tion, to  make  way  for  a  new  selection  of 
works  in  the  department  of  art  in  which 
they  excel.  The  Exhibition  re-opened 
in  Pall-Mail  East  on  the  23d  of  June. 
It  is  on  the  plan  of  the  British  Institu- 
tion, and  is  designed  to  bring  to  view 
performances  in  Water-Colours,  which 
would  otherwise  not  meet  the  public  eye, 
being  the  works  and  property  of  indivi- 
duals. We  learn  that  his  Majesty  and 
many  of  the  nobility  have  contributed  to 
this  treat  for  the  lovers  of  the  art. 

A  new  Institution  has  just  been  formed 
for  the  promotion  of  art,  with  the  title  of 
the  Society  of  British  Artists.  The  num- 
ber of  members  is  fixed  at  sixty.  Its 
object  embraces  a  building  with  separate 
rooms  for  the  different  departments  of 
art,  to  which  all  the  artists  in  the  empire 
will  be  invited  to  send  their  works  for 
exhibition  and  sale.  We  hope  to  be 
enabled  to  submit  to  our  readers  a  more 
particular  account  of  this  Institution  in 
our  next  publication. 

The  Royal  Library  lately  presented 
by  his  Majesty  to  the  nation  contains 
about  65,250  books,  exclusively  of  868 
cases  of  pamphlets,  and  pamphlets  which 
would  fill  140  cases  more,  exclusively  al- 
so of  an  extensive  collection  of  maps  and 
geographical  and  topographical  works. 
The  library  is  very  complete  for  its  ex- 
tent in  all  branches  of  science  and  litera- 


ture, principally  in  classics,  English  his- 
tory, Italian,  French,  and  Spanish  litera- 
ture, and  scarce  early  printed  books  of 
the  15th  century.  A  munificent  dona- 
tion of  cases  and  medals  accompanies  this 
gift.  The  Committee  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  to  whom  the  papers  respecting 
it  were  referred,  recommend  in  their  re- 
port that  this  collection  should  be  plac- 
ed in  the  same  building  with  the  library 
of  the  British  Museum,  already  enriched 
with  9000  volumes  collected  from  the 
time  of  Henry  VII.  presented  by  George 
II.  in  1757,  and  with  2000  volumes  of 
papers  and  pamphlets,  between  1640  and 
1660,  presented  by  his  late  Majesty.  It 
is  stated  that  the  Royal  Library  is  so  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  the  Museum,  consist- 
ing of  about  125,000  volumes,  that  its 
addition  will  not  make  above  21,000  du- 
plicates, and  of  these  not  more  than 
12,000  which  might  be  deemed  unne- 
cessary. It  is,  however,  recommended, 
out  of  respect  to  his  late  Majesty,  that 
the  library  should  be  kept  distinct  and 
entire  ;  and  the  Committee  farther  point 
out  the  propriety  of  erecting  a  new  na- 
tional Museum  on  the  site  of  Montague- 
House  and  grounds. 

Mr.  Macdonald  of  Scalpa,  in  the  He- 
brides, having,  some  years  ago,  suffered 
considerably  by  mice,  put  at  the  bottom, 
near  the  centre,  and  at  the  top  of  each 
stack  or  mow,  as  it  was  raised,  three  or 
four  stalks  of  wild  mint  with  the  leaves 
on,  and  never  afterwards  had  any  of  his 
grain  consumed.  He  then  tried  the 
same  experiment  with  his  cheese  and 
other  articles  kept  in  store,  and  often  in- 
jured by  mice,  and  with  equal  effect,  by 
laying  a  few  leaves,  green  or  dry,  on  the 
article  to  be  preserved.  From  these  re- 
sults it  must  be  inferred,  that  mice  have 
an  antipathy  to  the  smell  of  mint :  if  so, 
it  may  be  worth  experiment  to  scatter  a 
few  drops  of  oil  of  peppermint  in  pantries 
and  other  places  frequented  by  them,  as 
the  effect  will  probably  be  the  same. 


(). 


$toett?N 


ADDRESS  TO   THE  FIVE  OAKS 
AT  DALLWITZ. 

From  the  German  of  Theodore  Kornek. 
'Tis  evening — ceas'd  the  busy  hum  of  day, 
The  sun  descending  casts  a  ling'ring  ray 
Of  crimson  glory  on  the  western  sky; 
Ye  ancient  witnesses  of  days  gone  by, 
Beneath  your  giant  branches  let  me  rest! 
Oaks  of  my  fathers,  here  my  glowing  breast 
Swells  high  with  inspiration.   Forms  sublime, 
Ye  representatives  of  olden  time, 
Magnificent  in  verdure,  ye  display 
The  strength  mature  of  age,  but  no  decay  ; 
Cent'ries  have  ye  surviv'd  :  the  life  of  man 
Compar'd  with  your  existence  is— a  span. 
How  many  spirits,  great  and  wise  and  brave, 
•Since   ye  were   young   have  sunk    into   the 

grave  ! 
How  many  stars  of  female  virtue  shone 
In  meteoric  splendour,  and  are  gone 
Quick  as  the  momentary  light  which  gleams 
Upon  your  tow'ring  crests  !   To  me  it  seems, 
That  every  passing  zephyr's  lightest  breath 
Whispers  that  human  greatness  ends  in  death. 
Reckless  of  these  analogies  ye  stand, 
Defying   Time's  fierce   threat    and    ruthless 

hand  : 
No  pilgrim  vainly  has  invoked  your  aid, 
Offering  to  all  your  hospitable  shade, 
And  when  sear  autumn  strews   your   leaves 

around, 
Dying  they  nourish  the  parental  ground. 
The  spring  returns,    deck'd  with   a   livelier 

green, 
And  richer  foliage  each  year  is  seen  : 
Emblems  of  German  valour,  German  worth, 
Whence  patriotic  virtue  had  its  birth, 
Whence  self-devotion  in  the  sacred  cause 
Of  country,  freedom,  faith,  and  equal  laws, 
Despising  life  unblest  by  liberty, 
Sees  better  times  in  bright  futurity. 
But  what  avails  my  useless,  idle  dream  ? 
The  Muse  recalls  me  to  a  mournful  theme. 
<>  Germany!  thou  noblest  of  them  all, 
Thy  oaks  yet  stand,  but  thou  wast  dooin'd  to 

fall. 

Valeria. 
June  0,  1823. 


THE  FAIRY  WELL: 

An  old  Ballad. 

1. 

There  was  a  fairy  who  liv'd  in  a  well, 
And  she  prononne'd  a  magical  spell : 
"  Whoever  looks  into  this  wave,"  she  said, 
Stall  see  the  lady  that  he's  to  wed." 


A  king  came  by  with  his  hunting-spear, 
And  stopp'd  to  look  in  the  waters  clear; 
He  laid  by  the  brim  his  signet  of  gold, 
And  gave  his  brother  his  crown  to  hold. 

3. 
But  while  he  knelt  and  was  looking  down, 
His  brother  stood  by  and  tried  on  the  crown ; 
The  pearls  were  bright  and  the  rubies  were 

brave, 
So  he  tumbled  his  brother  into  the  wave. 

4. 
"  O  brother,  O  brother,  you've  got  my  ring, 
And  the  golden  crown  that  made  me  a  king  ; 
But  your  heart  shall  fail,  and  your  hand  shall 

quake, 
And   the  head   that  wears  my  jewels  shall 

ache  !" 

5. 
The  murderer  stood   and  lo  iked  from   the 

brink : 
"  The  sun  is  so  hot  I  should  like  to  drink." 
But,  lo !   as  he  stooped  with  a  silver  cup, 
His  head  went  down  and  his  heels  flew  up  ! 

6. 
"  O  brother,  O  brother,  I've  got  your  crown, 
But  the  weight  of  the  jewels  has  pull'd   me 

down  ; 
You  shall  be  crown'd  in  the  skies  again, 
But  I  shall  be  mark'd  on  the  brow  like  Cain  !" 

7. 
Down  he  sunk  in  the  dismal  wave, 
Dark  as  death  and  cold  as  the  grave; 
But  when  he  came  to  the  stones  at  last, 
The  fairy  caught  him  and  held  him  fast. 

8. 
She  took  him  into  her  crystal  hall, 
And  there  he  saw  his  face  in  the  wall; 
She  appear'd  rosy,  but  he  look'd  white, 
And  all  the  tapers  were  burning  bright. 

9. 
The  king  leap'd  down  from  his  fairy  throne, 
With  brighter  eyes  than  the  diamonds  shone; 
His  left  hand  balanc'd  a  pearly  globe, 
But  his  right  it  lifted  his  purple  robe. 

10. 
"  O  brother, O  brother,  bend  down  your  knee, 
But  kneel  to  heav'n  and  not  to  me ; 
For  Cod  may  frown  on  your  grievous  sin, 
But  I'm  too  happy  you  push'd  me  in  ! 

11. 
"  Come  hither,  come  hither,  you're  welcome 

now 
To  my  golden  crown  that  decks  your  brow  ; 
There  are  smiles  worth   heaven  on  my  love's 

face, 
And  she  has  made  me  king  of  this  place  " 

T.  M. 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  373,  Strand. 


v( 


V 


\ 


.-X 


>. 


*. 


THE 


a&epofittorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  §c. 

II   II'MWII    III    MM 

THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


August  1,  1823. 


N°VIII, 


EMBELLISHMENTS 


View  of  Ditton-Park 

Holly-Grove-House 

the  Pavilion,  Fontiiill  Abbey 

National  Polonaise 
Ladies'  Evening  Dress 
Ball  Dress 


63 

(;t 
lis 

1:0 
1 5*  1 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


MISCELLANIES. 


Views  of  Country  Seats. — Ditton-Park, 

the  Seat  of  Lord  Montacu     .... 

Holly-Grove-House,  the  Seat  of  T.  H. 

Broadhead,  Esq 

Letters-from  Reginald  Filterbrain,  Esq. 

of  the  Inner  Temple 

The  Wife  of  a  Genius 

The  Loiterer.    No.  IV 

The  Pleasures  of  a  Hackney-Coach  .     . 
The  Fallen  Tree,  freely  translated  from 

the  Spanish 

French  Female  Parliament.— Chamber 

of  Peeresses 

The  Castle  and  the  Farm,  or  the  Foster- 
Brothers  (continued) 

Ghost  Stories.  No.  I.— The  Three  Bro- 
thers (continued) 

Some  Particulars  respecting  William 
Combe,  Esq.  with  Sunday,  an  Essay  ex- 
tracted from  his  Philosopher  in  Bristol 
The  Twin  Sisters  :  A  Tale  of  Real  Life  . 
Description  of  General  Margin's  House 
at  Lucknow  ;  extracted  from  a  Letter 
from  an  Officer  in  the  Bengal  Esta- 
blishment    

The  Fair  Incognita 

Behaviour 

Fonthill  Abbey 

Anecdotes,  &c.  Historical,  Literary, 
and  Personal — Coronation  Anecdote 
—Bishop  Wilson— Origin  of  Cards — 
Sacrifices  at  Funerals — Before  and  af- 
ter Marriage  —  East  Indian  Glow- 
Worms— Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  -Dr. 
Johnson— Hail  and  Ice  in  the  East  In- 
dies—Catherine of  Russia  and  Voltaire 


99 
ib. 

101 

103 


105 


PAGE 
Gaelic    Relics.    No.    VI.— The   Song  of 

the  Dalt,  Campa  na  Aillaeh   ....   I0S 
National  Polonaise.  By  F.  W.  P.  Ocinskv  1  L> 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Vocal  Anthology.     Part  I ib. 

Werbe's  Ode  to  Solitude 114 

"  La  mia  Dorabellu"        .     .      .     ib. 

Sanderson's  Series  of  Popular  Airs    .     .     il-. 

"  Anxious    by    the    gliding 

stream" Hj5 

Salmon's  "  La  Recreation"  ....  ib. 
Burrowes'  Locke's  Music  in  Macbeth  .  11(> 
Rimbault's  Select  Italian  Airs       .     .      .     ib. 

Pukkis's  Sixth  Fantasia ib. 

Rimbault's  Paer's  Overture  to  Leonore  117 
Shield's  Air,  "  What  are  the 

.     .     ib. 

.     .    ib. 

.     .    ib. 


boasted  joys  of  love" 

Baenett's  "Ode  to  the  Bark"  .     .     .     . 

Beale's  "  County  Guy" 

Quadrilles. — Nixon's  La  Danse — A  Se- 
lection of  the  most  admired  Quadrilles 
— Topliff's  Second  Set  of  Psychean 
Quadrilles 

FINE  ARTS. 

Exhibition  in  Water-Colours     .... 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions.  —  Ladies'  Evening 
Dress 

Ball  Dress        •     •     • 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress 

French  Female  Fashions        

INTELLIGENCE, 

LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC   .     .     . 


US 


120 
121 

ib. 
122 

123 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  3715,  Strand. 


TO  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
on  or  before  the  1 5th  of  the  month,  Announcements  of  Works  which  they  may  have  on 
hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert  them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense. 
New  Musical  Publications  also,  if  a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  Publisher,  shall  be  duly 
noticed  in  our  Review;  and  Extracts  from  new  Books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an 
interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our  Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

We  are  much  obliged  to  our  correspondent  for  the  addition  to  our  account  o/Tab- 
ley-House,  which  shall  appear  next  month,  the  present  Number  being  made  up  when  it 
reached  us. 

Prospectus  of  a  New  Institution  for  the  Formation  of  Wives— Tour  round 
my  Parlour  Cor  at  least  the  first  portion  of  it),  and  Adventures  of  a  Serjeant's  Wife, 
shall  also  be  given  in  our  next. 


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©  * 


THE 


a&eposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  §c. 


THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


August  1,  1823. 


N°  VIII. 


VIEWS  OF  COUNTRY-SEATS. 

DITTON-PARK,    THJ5    SEAT    OF    LORD    MONTAGU. 


Ditton,  with  the  manor,  was  grant- 
ed by  Edward  III.  in  1335  to  Wil- 
liam de  Montacute,  who,  in  the  same 
year,  conveyed  it  to  Sir  John  Mo- 
lines,  who  held  it  with  the  manor  of 
Stoke-Pogis.  After  various  succes- 
sive owners,  we  find  it,  in  the  reign 
of  James  I.  in  the  possession  of  Sir 
Ralph  Winwood,  then  principal  Se- 
cretary of  State :  his  daughter  Ann 
being  married  to  Edward  Lord  Mon- 
tagu of  Baughton  in  Northampton- 
shire, Ditton  became  his  in  right  of 
his  wife.  From  him  it  passed  to  his 
son  Ralph,  created  Duke  of  Monta- 
gu; descending  then  to  his  son  John 
Duke  of  Montagu,  at  whose  death  it 
became  the  joint  property  of  his  two 
daughters,  Mary,  married  to  George 
Earl  of  Cardigan,  afterwards  created 
Duke  of  Montagu ;  and  Isabella,  mar- 
ried first  to  William  Montagu,  the 

Vol.  II.  No.  VIII. 


second  Duke  of  Manchester,  and  se- 
condly to  Sir  Edward  Hussey,  K.  B. 
created  after  his  marriage  Earl  of 
Beaulieu:  on  the  death  of  whom, 
with  their  husbands,  Ditton  became 
the  joint  property  of  the  late  Duke 
and  the  Duchess  Dowager  of  Buc- 
cleugh,  her  grace  being  the  only 
child  of  George  Duke  of  Montagu, 
The  present  proprietor,  Lord  Mon- 
tagu, is  her  second  son. 

Ditton  Park  is  in  the  parish  of 
J  Datchet,  Buckinghamshire,  and  a- 
I  bout  three  miles  from  Windsor.  It 
!  is  occasionally  the  residence  of  Lord 
\  Montagu,  but  the  lowness  of  the 
!  ground,  and  consequent  dampness  of 
l  the  site,  prevent  the  family  from  con- 
j  stantly  residing  on  it.  The  old  man- 
I  sion  was  destroyed  by  fire  on  the 
I  night  of  the  28th  April,  1812;  part 
of  the  furniture,  and  a  fine  portrait 
K 


64 


IIOLLY-CIIOVK-IIOUSE. 


of  Sir  Ralph  Winwood,  were  saved 
from  the  flames.  The  house  possess- 
ed no  particular  claim  to  notice;  it 
had  been  enlarged  at  various  times. 
The  present  mansion,  as  shewn  in 
our  view  of  the  Garden-Front,  is  a 
handsome  Gothic  structure,  and  was 
built  by  Atkinson.  The  offices  and 
stables  are  convenient  and  extensive. 
It  may  be  said  to  stand  on  an  island, 
from  the  breadth  of  the  moat  that 
surrounds  the  house.  Its  communi- 
cation with  the  main  land  is  by  draw- 


bridges, with  the  exception  of  the 
principal  entrance,  to  which  is  a  stone 
bridge  of  live  arches.  The  island  is 
laid  out  in  pleasure-grounds,  and  it 
possesses  some  fine  timber,  for  which 
the  park  is  remarkable.  Ditton  is 
a  hamlet  of  Stoke-Pogis,  with  a  cha- 
pel of  ease.  A  neat  pretty  Gothic 
chapel  is  built  in  the  park  for  the  use 
of  the  family;  near  which,  planted  out 
from  observation,  are  the  kitchen- 
gardens,  which  are  extensive. 


HOLLY-GROVE-HOUSE, 


THE    SEAT   OF   THEODORE 

The  first  conveyance  of  this  beau- 
tiful spot  is  an  indenture  made  in  the 
year  1697  betwen  William  Taylor 
of  Winkfield  and  John  Avis  of  Old 
Windsor:  it  was  for  a  cottage,  and 
a  small  portion  of  land  attached  to 
it.  In  the  year  1772,  it  was  purchas- 
ed by  Captain  John  Deacon  of  the 
first  regiment  of  foot-guards,  and 
equerry  to  the  Duke  of  Cumberland. 
The  grounds  have  been  enlarged  by 
subsequent  grants,  all  of  which  are 
entered  at  the  court  of  attachment 
for  Windsor  Forest.  In  1783,  we 
find  Sir  Andrew  Snape  Hammond 
the  proprietor,  who  sold  it  to  Sa- 
muel Johnson,  Esq.  It  was  again 
sold  in  1791  to  Henry  Griffiths,  Esq. 
In  the  following  year  it  was  trans- 
ferred to  Miss  Jennings,  and  was  dis- 
posed of  by  the  Rose  family  to  Spen- 
cer Mackay,  Esq.  of  whom  it  was 
purchased  in  180S  by  Theodore 
Henry  Rroadhead,  Esq.  father  of 
the  present  proprietor. 

The  house  is  of  brick,  and  the 
principal  front,  as  shewn  in  the  an- 
nexed view,  is  enlivened  with  pilas- 
ters of  stucco.  The  interior  con- 
tains  some    handsome    apartments, 


HENRY    BKOADHEAD,    ESQ. 

The  principal  library  is  a  magnificent 
room,  31  feet  by  24,  containing  a 
valuable  collection  of  books.  Among 
many  pictures  is  a  super]}  work  of 
Guercino,  the  Grecian  Daughter. 

The  entire  extent  of  ground  is 
about  forty-five  acres,  the  whole  with- 
in a  very  beautiful  pert  of  the  Forest, 
and  commanding  all  its  rides  and 
drives.  The  principal  part  was  grant- 
ed by  George  III.  to  the  Right  Hon. 
George  Rose  during  Miss  Jennings's 
residence  at  the  place,  about  twenty 
years  since.  The  estate  is  charged 
with  the  repair  of  part  of  the  high- 
way leading  from  a  little  beyond  the 
house  in  the  parish  of  Old  Windsor, 
to  the  junction  of  the  road  with  the 
parish  of  New  Windsor ;  a  condition 
entered  into  by  Mr.  Griffiths  on  be- 
ing permitted  to  inclose  a  portion 
of  the  forest. 

The  place  is  indebted  to  Miss 
Jennings  for  the  present  delightful 
arrangement  of  the  gardens  and 
grounds.  Her  fine  taste  induced 
her  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  Rep- 
ton,  under  whose  direction  the  flow- 
er-garden was  created.  It  is  beau- 
tiful and  sequestered,  and  in  it  is  a 


LETTI'.RS    FROM    REGINALD    PILTERBRAINj    ESQ. 


65 


grapery,  with  greenhouses  and  al-  ||  to  its  situation.  From  bofli  fronts  the 
coves.  The  serpentine  walk  that  J  house  commands  varied  and  exten- 
leads  to  it  winds  round  the  ground,  i|  sive  views  over  the  Forest,  the  Great 
at  intervals  commanding  charming  j  Park,  the  castle  and  town  of  Wind- 
views  of  tiie   surrounding  country;  j  sor,  with  a  fine    stretch  of  distant 


while  the  area  is  gay  and  fragrant 
with  flowers,   and  rich  in  plants  of  j 
rarity  and  beauty.     Adequate  justice  ' 


cannot   be  done   in  any  description  ||  sent  proprietor, 


country.  For  the  facts  contained  in 
this  brief  notice,  we  are  indebted  to 
the  kind  communications  of  the  pre- 


LETTERS  FROM  REGINALD  FILTERBRAIN,  Esq. 
Of  the  Inner  Temple. 
Letter  II. 

"  To  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot." 

Seasons. 

When  I  scal'd  up  my  last,  which  ere  this  you  have  read, 

I  popp'd  out  nay  candle  and  bundled  to  bed ; 

And  after  the  fright  and  fatigues  I  had  borne, 

You  may  judge  that  I  slept  pretty  soundly  till  morn; 

And  my  snooze  had  been  longer,  no  doubt,  but  a  rapping 

At  the  door  of  my  room  put  an  end  to  my  napping: 

'Twas  a  servant,  the  troublesome  slut,  who  bethought  her 

I  had  slept  long  enough,  and  so  brought  my  hot  water. 

With  a  yawn  and  a  stretch,  and  reluctantly  turning 

Twice  or  thrice,  I  consulted  my  watch,  and  discerning 

'Twas  but  just  ten  o'clock,  I  exclaim'd,  "  'Tis  surprising 

What  pleasure  folks  find  in  such  vile  early  rising!" 

But  I  knew  that  'twas  fruitless  complaining,  and  said, 

"    Ui  liomaui  in  Roma,"  and  boune'd  out  of  bed ; 

When,  opening  the  window,  conceive  my  delight, 

'Twas  the  bread  rolling  ocean  that  burst  on  my  sight. 

I  had  heard  of  its  wonders  indeed  in  the  page 

Of  the  tourists  and  bards  of  this  book-teeming  age; 

But  I  now  saw  it  foaming,  and  heard  the  loud  roar 

Of  the  white-crested  wave  as  it  broke  on  the  shore; 

And  warm'd  by  the  sight  I  so  long  had  desir'd, 

I  rhapsodized  thus,  as  if  mad  or  inspired : 

"  Oh!  thou  blue-bosom'd  ocean,  that  gird'stlike  a  charm 

The  dear  land  of  my  birth,  and  protect'st  it  from  harm, 

Who  th'  attempts  of  invaders  so  oft  hast  made  vain, 

As  thou  scatter 'dst  the  fleets  of  the  Spaniard  and  Dane  ; 

And  proclaim'dst  to  the  nations — '  The  land  of  the  brave 

Shall  ne'er  be  defiled  by  the  foot  of  the  slave :' 

Oh !  thou "     At  this  moment  to  breakfast  a  warning 

Call'd  home  my  wild  thoughts  to  the  task  of  adorning ; 
Which  done,  comr/ie  ilfaut,  I  soon  made  my  first  bow 
To  the  family  party  assembled,  below, 

k  '2 


66 


LKTTKRS    FROM    RKGINALD    FILTKRBRAIN,    KSQ. 

Whom  'tis  fit,  for  your  guidance,  I  name  one  by  one : 

Our  host  and  his  lady,  two  daughters,  a  son ; 

The  last,  for  some  service  I  did  him  in  town, 

To  Priory  Grange  had  invited  me  down. 

The  ladies  all  greeted  their  guest  with  a  smile, 

The  sweetest  of  welcomes ;  the  men-folk  the  while 

Each  seized  on  my  hand,  and  they  grasp'd  it  so  tight, 

That  prim  ceremony  was  strangled  outright. 

'Twas  such  a  reception,  that  now  it  appears 

As  if  I  had  known  the  whole  party  for  years. 

When  breakfast  was  ended  (you'll  please  to  remember 
That  shooting  commenced  on  the  first  of  September), 
They  said,  if  to  sporting  I'd  no  great  aversion, 
They'd  be  glad  if  I  join'd  them,  and  took  that  diversion. 
Now  of  sporting  and  such  things  I  just  as  much  knew 
As  I  do  of  the  language  they  speak  at  Loo-chew  ; 
And  for  pointing  a  gun,  tho'  I  say't  to  my  shame, 
Had  I  shot  at  a  barn  I  had  sure  miss'd  my  aim. 
But  I  could  not  refuse,  tho'  I  lik'd  not  the  fun, 
So  I  said  I  would  go  if  they'd  lend  me  a  gun. 
This  want  was  no  sooner  express'd  than  supplied, 
With  a  queer-looking  bottle  of  powder  beside, 
Which  I  stuff  *d  in  one  pocket,  and  ill  could  they  smother 
Their  mirth  when  I  cramm'd  the  shot-belt  in  the  other. 
This  erratum  corrected,  without  further  trouble, 
We  soon  reach'd  a  place  which  they  term'd  a  wheat-stubble, 
A  wide  straggling  field,  without  footpath  or  track 
(You  might  just  as  well  walk  on  a  porcupine's  back), 
In  which  we  had  scarcely  proceeded  ten  yards 
(I  should'ring  my  piece  as  I'd  seen  the  foot-guards), 
Ere  the  dog  made  a  point,  which,  you'll  understand,  shews 
There  is  game  not  a  great  many  feet  from  his  nose. 
Now,  by  previous  arrangement,  'twas  settled  that  I 
On  the  first  birds  they  started  my  prowess  should  try ; 
While  they  stood  beside  me  the  exploit  to  view 
(Like  the  thieves  in  Gil  Bias,  when  he  made  his  debtitj. 
I  lifted  my  piece,  but  as  often  I'd  heard 
That  guns  sometimes  recoil,  an  event  I  much  fear'd, 
And  to  guard  against  which,  I  judged  best  to  hold  her 
Some  two  or  three  inches  before  my  left  shoulder ; 
But  pulling  the  trigger,  I  found,  by  the  shock, 
There  was  less  to  be  fear'd  from  the  muzzle  than  stock ; 
For  the  consequence  was,  to  my  utter  dismay, 
I  fell  flat  on  my  back,  and  the  birds  flew  away. 
But  I  soon  gain'd  my  feet,  and  dispelling  my  terror, 
My  friend  very  kindly  explain'd  my  sad  error. 
On  each  fire  that  succeeded,  conceive  my  surprise, 
Indeed  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  own  eyes, 
The  birds,  just  as  sure  as  I  levell'd  my  gun, 
As  if  'twere  by  magic,  dropp'd  dead  every  one ; 


THE   WIFE    OF    A    GENIUS. 


m 


So  that,  when  we  return'd,  to  the  ladies  I  bragg'd 

Of  my  prowess  in  arms,  and  the  game  I  had  bagg'd : 

But  their  brother  soon  clear 'd  up  the  mystic  transaction, 

Though  I  own  not  exactly  to  my  satisfaction ; 

They  would  ne'er  have  done  laughing,  I  thought,  when  they  heard, 

That  he  shot  o'er  my  shoulder  and  kill'd  every  bird. 

But  here  I  must  finish,  as  I  am  a  sinner : 

Adieu,  my  dear  fellow !  the  bell  rings  to  dinner. 

W.  H.  H. 


THE  WIFE  OF  A  GENIUS. 


"  LiTE-la  ral-la  ral-la!"  sang  a 
ragged  urchin  as  he  beat  time  with 
a  tin  coffin-plate  which  hung  on  his 
finger,  and  clanged  responsive  to  his 
larry  on  the  pavement  of  the  High- 
street  of  Worcester.  "  Tite-te  la- 
ral  la-ral  la,"  continued  he,  doling  out 
his  monotonous  tune,  while  I  was 
regarding  him  with  fixed  attention 
as  a  fit  sketch  either  for  the  pen  of 
Goldsmith,  or  the  pencil  of  Wilkie. 
I  kept  at  a  little  distance  all  up  the 
High-street,  until  he  entered  a  dirty 
suburban  lane  of  that  city,  in  whose 
grand  cathedral  I  had  just  been  draw- 
ing, and  under  the  protection  of 
whose  principal  inn  I  had  taken  up 
my  abode. 

The  boy's  face  was  particularly 
handsome,  and  he  had  washed  it,  as 
if  he  was  proud  of  it ;  for  its  natural 
colour  was  seen  no  further  than  his 
cheeks,  forming  a  bold  relief  of  light 
and  shade,  for  his  neck  and  throat 
were  left  as  black  as  household  dirt 
could  make  them:  this  had  not  pro- 
bably been  disturbed  since  he  last 
went  into  the  Severn,  which  might 
be  now  some  months  since.  Locks  of 
raven-black  hair  strayed  through  an 
old  hat;  his  pantaloons,  although  they 
might  call  down  reflections  on  his 
tailor  for  their  moral  unfitness,  left 
hi*  limbs  at  perfect  liberty  to  ex- 
tend their  growth.     His  jacket  bore 


the  same  free  and  easy  appearance. 
Of  shoes  he  had  scarcely  any;  what 
remained  were  so  large,  that  his  feet 
ever  and  anon  disdained  to  bear  them 
company,  at  one  time  leaving  them 
in  the  lurch,  at  another  becoming,  as 
it  were,  like  the  clogs  of  the  good 
housewife,  they  also  bore  some  part 
in  the  concert,  the  principal  instru- 
ment of  which  seemed  to  be  the  afore- 
said tin  ornament.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  that  plate  ?"  said  I, 
overtaking  him.—"  Take  it  to  my 
mother,"  replied  the  urchin:  "  she 
died  yesterday  morning.  The  parish 
are  going  to  bury  her  to-night,  or 
else  Mr.  Fleming  won't  bury  her  at 
all,  for  they  say  St.  Clement's  an't 
mother's  parish.  Sister  would  have 
got  a  collection  for  her,  but  parson 
D —  is  so  good  as  to  say  he'll  bury 
mother  for  nothing." 

There  could  not  be  the  least  oc- 
casion to  ask  the  boy  if  he  were  sor- 
ry to  lose  his  mother;  the  quiet,  not 
grief-like,  but  calm  sorrow  of  his  air, 
the  very  clinking  of  the  tin,  which 
bore  an  inscription  for  her  coffin, 
the  time  of  his  tune,  all,  all  were  in 
accord  with  that  distress,  which,  hav- 
ing commenced  in  gushing  and  bitter 
tears,  spends  itself  in  idle  sorrow;  and 
as  he  stood  answering  my  interroga- 
tories, he  pointed  with  a  black  fin- 
ger to  the  inscription,  inwardly  spel- 


f)» 


THE    WIFfi    OF    A    GKNIUS. 


ling  every  word;  and  when  he  came 
to  the  bottom,  as  if  he  was  then 
only  convinced  that  he  was  reading 
what  related  to  his  own  mother,  he 
burst  into  tears. 

What  would  one  of  those  dema- 
gogues, who  endeavour  to  the  utmost 
of  their  power  to  make  the  poor  be- 
lieve that  they  are  worse  off  than 
they  really  are,  say  to  me,  if  he  heard 
me  assert,  that  the  lower  orders  do 
not  feel  so  acutely  as  the  higher? 
He  would  probably  declare,  that  I 
deserved  to  lose  my  head,  forget- 
ting that  Providence  suits  the  back 
to  the  burden:  yet  I  will  assert,  that 
the  Father  of  Mercies,  who  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  bestows 
on  the  poor  an  equivalent  for  their 
hard  lot,  in  occupying  their  minds  so 
much  as  to  prevent  their  giving  way 
to  despair.  The  obligation  to  earn 
their  daily  bread  rouses  their  exer- 
tions ;  and  while  the  sufferer  of  rank 
seeks  an  alleviation  to  his  sorrows  in 
inactivity,  the  many  wants  of  the 
poorer  orders  soon  make  them  forget 
the  loss  of  kindred.  Foote  shewed 
his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  when 
he  makes  a  mantua-maker  declare, 
that  she  should  certainly  have  died 
of  grief  for  her  poor  dear  husband, 
had  it  not  been  for  a  court-mourn- 
ing, which  diverted  the  current  of 
her  ideas. 

There  was  something  in  my  ren- 
contre with  this  boy  that  made  me 
wish  to  see  the  end  of  this  adven- 
ture, and  I  followed  him  to  his  home, 
and  entered  a  room  on  the  ground- 
floor  at  the  same  time  that  he  did. 
I  saw  there,  on  a  wretched  bed,  at- 
tended by  a  few  garrulous  neigh- 
bours, the  remains  of  a  fellow-crea- 
ture, whose  delicate  hand  and  whose 
appearance,  even  in  death,  betrayed 
a  much  superior  character  to  any  of 


those  who  now  crowded  round  me. 
I  applied  to  the  most  loquacious  for 
information  respecting  the  deceased, 
but  she  dealt  entirely  in  generals;  she 
indulged  too  in  a  string  of  invectives 
against  the  defunct,  whose  principal 
failings  seemed  to  be,  that  she  had 
feelings  above  her  situation. 

I  again  applied  to  the  boy,  who 
was  now  a  passive  spectator :  a  feel- 
ing of  temporary  sorrow  had  sub- 
sided in  curiosity  respecting  what 
was  about  to  be  done ;  but  as  they 
were  proceeding  to  lay  the  poor  soul 
in  her  last  narrow  house,  I  beckoned 
the  boy  to  the  door,  and  inquired 
his  future  views,  and  what  he  meant 
to  do  to  get  a  living.  "  Why,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  now  mother  is  dead,  I 
suppose  there  could  be  no  harm  in 
going  again  to  water-cart !"  adding, 
that  his  mother  never  liked  him  to  do 
it  when  she  was  alive;  and  thus  he 
had  been  deprived  of  many  a  mouth- 
ful of  victuals. 

Having  so  far  satisfied  myself  with 
regard  to  the  dead  as  well  as  to  the 
living,  the  latter  of  whom  I  satisfied 
also,  I  returned  to  my  inn,  and  or- 
dering a  chaise,  was  about  to  step 
into  it,  when  the  boy  whom  I  had 
noticed  appeared  at  the  door.  He 
offered  me  a  large  packet  of  papers, 
written  as  he  said  by  his  poor  mo- 
ther :  they  were  of  no  use  to  him, 
they  might  be  to  me.  He  made  a 
rustic  bow  and  departed.  This  par- 
cel came  not  unopportunely  to  carry 
me  through  a  country  too  often  vi- 
sited to  afford  further  novelty,  and 
I  untied  a  dirty  ribbon,  and  read  as 
follows:  "  The  Wife  of  a  Genius:  a 
Talc  too  trueT  Whether  this  story 
was  ever  intended  for  publication,  I 
know  not;  but  I  have  felt  so  much 
interest  in  its  details,  that/with  a 
few  corrections,  1  hesitate  not  10  lay 


Till:    WIFE    OF    A    GENIUS. 


m 


it  before  the  readers  of  the  Repo- 
sitory.   

'*  I  am  the  daughter  of  Impru- 
dence and  X^oliy,  for  by  such  names 
may  my  parents  be  designated:  per- 
haps I  should  apologize  for  thus  in- 
decently satirizing  those  who  gave 
me  birth ;  but  I  have  bitterly  suffer- 
ed in  consequence  of  their  ill  ma- 
nagement, and  all  I  can  do  is  to  com- 
plain. God  knows  I  loved  them 
dearly;  and  even  while  I  thus  im- 
pugn their  conduct,  were  they  but 
alive  I  should  indeed  be  happy.  My 
grandfather  kept  a  large  inn  on  the 
north  road,  of  which  my  mother  be- 
came the  ornament.  She  was  ex- 
tremely beautiful,  very  witty,  and  as 
money  came  in  faster  than  her  father 
could  count  it,  he  bestowed  upon  her 
a  splendid  education.  After  receiv- 
ing the  incense  of  flattery  for  three 
years  from  my  grandfather's  custom- 
ers, who  proffered  every  thing  to 
gratify  her  except  matrimony,  and 
having  lost  all  her  time  without  gain- 
ing an  honourable  settlement,  she  at 
length  listened  to  the  proposals  of 
my  father,  a  quiet  good  kind  of  man; 
and  finding  no  other  person  so  eli- 
gible, she  married  him. 

"  It  may  be  proper  to  mention  in 
what  way  this  couple  meant  to  main- 
tain themselves.  My  father  was  then 
a  musician  of  some  celebrity,  and  his 
teaching,  with  other  engagements, 
might  have  afforded  them  an  ample 
fortune,  had  not  a  love  of  extrava- 
gance soon  involved  them  in  penury. 
The  details  of  poverty  and  obscurity 
would  pain  me  to  relate.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  that,  allured  by  splendid  pro- 
mises, my  parents  visited  London. 
Here  my  father  became   insolvent, 


and  at  the  age  of  fifteen  I  found 
myseHj  with  my  parents,  living  in  a 
two-pair  of  stairs  room,  in  an  obscure 
street;  my  father  suffering  from  an 
apoplectic  seizure,  and,  with  my  mo- 
ther, entirely  dependent  on  me  for 
support. 

"  I  had  been  educated  in  music 
as  a  teacher  by  my  father,  and  by 
my  talents  alone  were  they  now  to 
be  supported.  Obliged  in  all  weathers 
to  attend  my  pupils,  my  days  were 
spent  in  trouble,  and  my  nights  in 
vexation.  The  idea  that  I  was  sup- 
porting parents  on  whom  I  doted 
for  a  time  gave  me  fresh  energies ; 
but  when  I  saw  the  hard-earned  sums 
which  I  had  gained  for  them  lavish- 
ed by  my  mother  on  some  dainty  ar- 
ticle of  food,  or  on  some  splendid 
dress,  while  I  knew  our  rent  was  yet 
unpaid,  I  did  sometimes  repine. 

"  The  love  of  company,  in  which 
my  parents  inordinately  indulged, 
was  also  another  source  of  disquiet. 
What  then  was  the  company  that 
now  assembled  round  them?  They 
were  as  they  called  themselves  pro- 
fessional persons :  indeed  they  pro- 
fessed much;  fiddlers  at  minor  thea- 
tres, mountebanks,  clowns,  and  would- 
be  actresses;  young  gentlemen  who 
only  imitated  Congrcve  in  his  li- 
centiousness, ladies  who  shone  in 
doggerel  and  pun,  a  species  of  very 
little  geniuses  who  mistake  talking 
nonsense  for  genius,  and  ill-nature 
for  wit.  My  nights  were  now  turned 
into  day;  the  roses  left  my  cheeks, 
and  were  to  be  supplied  by  those  of 
a  less  natural  but  yet  a  brighter 
hue,  when  an  event  occurred  which 
formed  the  grand  epoch  of  my  life." 
(To  be  continued.) 


70 


THE  LOITERER. 

No.  IV. 
TO     THE    LOITERER. 


Sir, 

I  am  a  very  ill-used  person, 
and  though  I  have  reason  to  suppose 
you  are  one  of  my  bitterest  enemies, 
yet  I  hope  you  have  generosity  of 
spirit  enough  to  give  me  an  opportu- 
nity of  clearing  myself  from  the  un- 
founded and  scandalous  accusations 
which  a  great  majority  of  the  good 
people  of  this  metropolis  are  every 
day  bringing  against  me.  I  am,  sir, 
that  once  bright  star  of  the  morning, 
now  known  in  Europe  by  the  name 
of  the  Devil.  It  is  needless  for  me 
to  give  you  any  account  of  myself, 
since  I  know  you  are  perfectly  well 
versed  in  my  history:  my  object  in 
writing  to  you  is  to  remove,  if  I  can, 
some  part  of  the  aspersions  daily 
thrown  upon  me,  and  to  prove  the 
truth  of  your  own  proverb,  that  the 
Devil  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  paint- 
ed. 

You  must  be  aware,  sir,  of  the 
practice,  now  so  general,  of  tacking 
my  name  to  every  vice  or  meanness 
that  people  would  express  their  de- 
testation of.  Thus  they  say,  as  stingy, 
or  as  selfish,  as  the  Devil,  as  stupid 
as  the  Devil,  as  idle  as  the  Devil,  as 
foolish  as  the  Devil.  Now  really, 
sir,  this  is  too  bad:  where  will  you 
find  a  warrant  for  accusing  me  of 
these  qualities  ?  Sacred  and  profane 
history  both  afford  the  most  convinc- 
ing proofs  that  I  have  never  been  idle 
in  past  times ;  and  certainly  the  pre- 
sent state  of  society  gives  undoubted 
proof  that  I  am  as  industrious  as 
ever:  for  frail  as  man  is  by  nature, 
yet  goodness  is  so  mixed  with  evil 
in  his  disposition,  that  were  it  not 


for  my  great  exertions  and  those 
of  my  myrmidons,  fashionable  vices 
could  never  have  arisen  to  their  pre- 
sent height.  Now  as  to  meanness 
or  selfishness,  can  any  body  who  has 
ever  read  Milton  accuse  me  of  those 
faults?  Does  not  that  candid  historian 
of  my  fall  give  me  abundant  credit 
for  those  dispositions,  which,  in  the 
present  age,  are  so  much  admired? 
Can  any  one  deny  that  he  has  drawn 
me  very  much  of  a  gentleman?  And 
is  not  that  sufficient  to  prove,  that 
meanness  is  a  fault  with  which  I  can 
in  no  shape  be  charged  ? 

As  to  stupidity,  if  mankind  had 
any  sense  of  shame,  they  would  blush 
to  bring  so  puerile  a  charge  against 
me.  Let  them  look  at  the  grand  de- 
signs of  which  I  have  been  the  in- 
stigator; at  the  various  and  ingeni- 
ous methods  which  I  took  to  con- 
tinue my  empire  when  the  rise  of 
Christianity  first  threatened  it  with 
entire  destruction ;  and  at  those  bril- 
liant and  seductive  writings,  penned 
under  my  influence,  with  which  in 
latter  ages  I  have  inundated  the 
world,  in  the  hope  of  sapping  what 
I  could  not  overturn  by  open  force. 
Let  them,  I  say,  Mr.  Loiterer,  consi- 
der those  things,  and  then,  if  they 
have  any  sense  of  justice,  they  must 
acknowledge  that  I  am,  in  the  mo- 
dern sense  of  the  word,  un  vrai  bel 
esprit. 

The  charge  of  folly  I  own  touches 
me  more  nearly  than  any  other,  be- 
cause, in  one  sense,  I  must  allow  it 
to  be  just ;  for  it  was  indeed  folly, 
in  the  guise  of  ambition,  that  cast 
me  from  the  height  of  bliss  to  dwell 


THE    LOITERER. 


71 


in  realms  of  darkness:   but  surely, 
however   just   the   charge   may   be 
when  urged  in  this  sense  against  me 
by  those  few  old-fashioned   people 
who  do  still  preserve   the  obsolete 
custom  of  going  to  church,  it  is  ter- 
ribly out  of  place  when  brought  by 
those  daring  spirits  who  exalt  beings 
of  their  own  nature  into  heroes  for 
committing  the  very  same  folly.  When 
were  rebels,  successful  or  unsuccess- 
ful,  stigmatized    as   fools?    A  man 
would  never  succeed  in  giving  you 
a  bad  impression  of  his  neighbour's 
understanding  by  saying,   that   the 
fellow  was  as  silly  as  Julius  Caesar, 
or  as  great  an  oaf  as  Cromwell ;  and 
yet  it  was  the  same  kind  of  folly, 
though  in  an  inferior   degree,  that 
gave  the  former  an  undoubted  rank 
among  the  greatest  heroes;  and  if 
the  memory  of  the  latter  is  less  uni- 
versally worshipped,  has  he  not  also 
his  partisans,  who  dignify  him  with 
the  title  of  preserver  of  his  country, 
while  even  those  who  execrate   his 
ambition  never  think  of  styling  it  folly? 
I  flatter  myself  I  need  say  no  more 
to  induce  your  readers,  if  they  have 
any  candour  at  all,  to  acquit  me,  in  a 
general  sense,  of  folly, 

Having  thus  cleared  myself  from 
the  most  prominent  parts  of  the 
charges  brought  against  me,  I  must 
speak  of  some  others,  which  are  fre- 
quently made  with  equal  injustice: 
thus,  for  instance,  I  am  often  singled 
out  as  an  example  of  vices  generally 
practised  by  that  class  of  men  styled 
honest  fellows,  which,  I  could  easily 
prove,  I  have  never  been  personally 
guilty  of;  as  for  example,  wenching, 
gluttony,  and  drunkenness.  There  are 
no  expressions  more  common  than 
he  drinks  like  the  Devil,  eats  like 
the  Devil,  is  the  Devil  among  the 
Vol.  II.  No.  VIII. 


women,  when  all  the  time  the  people 
who  thus  use  my  name  to  express 
the  highest  degree  of  comparison, 
know  very  well  that  I  never  was  guil- 
ty of  any  thing  of  the  kind. 

There  is  still  another  grievance, 
though  an  inferior  one,  which,  I  con- 
fess, hurts  my  feelings  very  much, 
that  is,  the  freedom  with  which  my 
name  is  bandied  about  in  conversation 
by  all  sorts  of  people.     In  former 
times  fear  supplied  the  place  of  re- 
spect in  the  minds  of  the  lower  class; 
and  as  they  really  looked  upon  me 
as  a  formidable  sort  of  personage, 
with  whom  they  did  not  wish  to  have 
any  thing  to  do,  they  mentioned  me 
as  seldom  as  possible :  but  latterly, 
since  they  have  been  fairly  reasoned 
out  of  a  belief  in  my  existence  by 
those  ingenious  gentlemen  who  are 
clever  enough  to  prove,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  numbers  of  persons,  that 
a  man  cannot  be  sure  even  that  he 
is   alive,    because  the   perfection  of 
wisdom  consists  in  being  certain  of 
nothing,  they  treat  my   name  with 
very  little  ceremony :  nor  is  this  abuse 
confined  to  those  who  consider  me 
as  an  imaginary  being,  for  even  those 
few   who   are   not   yet    enlightened 
enough  to   believe  in  nothing,   too 
frequently  indulge  themselves  in  an 
unlimited  use  of  my  name,  though, 
as  the  greatest  part  of  them  live  in  a 
manner  that  must  one  day  or  other 
render  them  my  subjects,  policy,  as 
well  as  politeness,  ought  to  prevent 
them  from  needlessly  irritating  me. 

As  to  the  vices  which  really  belong 
to  my  character,  such  as  pride,  en- 
vy, hatred,  revenge,  treachery,  &c. 
&c.  I  scorn  to  deny  them;  but  I 
maintain  they  are  failings  common 
to  great  souls,  and  only  that  I  know 
the  generality  of  your  readers  are 


1'i 


THE    PLEASURES   OV   A    HACKNEY-COACH. 


too  well  versed  in  history  to  need 
proofs  of  this  fact,  I  would  run  over 
some  scores  of  names  to  convince 
them  of  it ;  hut  a  single  name,  and 
one  that  lately  filled  all  Europe  with 
terror,  would,  in  fact,  be  enough  to 
prove  the  truth  of  my  assertion:  I 
mean  that  of  my  late  ill-used  proto- 
type, Buonaparte,  whose  character, 
bating  that  he  was  not  quite  so  much 
of  a  gentleman,  bore  certainly  a  very 
strong  resemblance  to  my  own.  Let 
even  the  most  prejudiced  of  those 
who  still  declare  with  enthusiasm 
that  he  had  a  great  soul,  take  a  can- 
did review  of  his  actions,  and  they 


must  acknowledge,  that  is,  if  they 
have  any  conscience  at  all,  that  our 
qualities  so  nearly  resemble  each 
other,  that  they  can't  well  abuse  me 
without  insulting  his  memory:  and 
perhaps  this  consideration  may  pro- 
cure for  me  better  treatment  in  cer- 
tain quarters  than  I  have  hitherto 
met  with. 

Adieu,  sir !  Receive  the  assurance 
of  my  high  consideration,  and  of  the 
pleasure  it  would  give  me  to  be  al- 
lowed to  subscribe  myself  your  most 
humble  and  devoted  servant, 

Satan. 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  A  HACKNEY-COACH. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sir, 


I  have  seen  the  complaint  of 
poor  Reuben  Rideabout  in  your  last 
Number,  and  am  quite  astonished  to 
find  there  is  any  body  so  simple  as 
to  dislike  a  hackney-coach,  except 
indeed  they  were  able  to  keep  a  dash- 
ing set-out  of  their  own.  For  my 
part,  I  think  a  hackney-coach  one 
of  the  pleasantest  things  in  the  world: 
mind,  I  am  speaking  of  conveyances; 
there  certainly  is  one  thing  rather 
pleasanter  to  be  sure,  and  that  is  a 
lover. 

You  must  know,  sir,  that  I  am  just 
entering  my  nineteenth  year,and  came 
up  to  dear,  delightful  London  about 
twelve  months  ago,  for  the  first  time 
since  I  was  quite  a  child,  to  spend  a 
year  or  two  with  a  good-natured  un- 
cle and  aunt,  who  have  no  children 
of  their  own,  and  are  therefore  very 
fond  of  their  Fanny,  as  they  call  me. 
But  as  I  sat  down  to  write  about  the 
pleasures  of  a  hackney-coach,  I  do 
not  think  I  shall  trouble  myself  to 
give  you  any  account  either  of.where 


I  came  from,  who  or  what  my  father 
is,  neither  my  uncle's  name,  nor  even 
where  he  resides ;  so  that  if  any  of 
your  fair  readers  should  be  burning 
to  know  these  matters,  they  must 
continue  to  burn  on. 

The  first  pleasant  thing  that  I  knew 
of  a  hackney-coach  was,  that  one  of 
them  received  me,  with  all  my  trunks, 
bandboxes,  dressing-cases,  &c.  &c. 
and  conveyed  me  in  a  trice  to  my 
uncle's  house,  which  I  could  never 
have  found  myself,  for  it  happened, 
by  some  mistake,  that  there  was  no 
one  to  meet  me.  This,  you  must 
allow,  is  a  pleasant  matter;  and  I 
should  advise  any  country  lady,  if  she 
happens  to  lose  herself  in  this  over- 
grown monster  of  a  metropolis,  not 
to  go  asking  about,  to  be  quizzed  and 
laughed  at,  and  perhaps  even  sent 
wrong,  but  to  take  a  hackney-coach 
at  the  first  stand  she  comes  to,  and 
tell  the  driver  where  she  wants  to  go; 
and  he  will  Jind  her  presently,  though 
she  had  lost  herself. 

Another  pleasure  of  these  vehicles 


THE    PLEASURES   OF   A    HACKNEY-COACH. 


73 


is,  to  be  borne  to  the  door  of  a  the- 
atre in  one  of  them.  Oh !  what  a  de- 
lightful rattling,  and  dashing,  and 
splashing,  and  crashing,  and  bawling, 
there  is!  then  the  handings  out  of 
the  coach,  and  the  handings  into  the 
theatre  between  the  grenadiers  of  the 
foot-guards !  Lud !  it  always  makes 
my  little  heart  flutter  in  such  a  way 
you  cannot  conceive,  and  I  positive- 
ly seem  two  or  three  inches  taller, 
and  of  I  don't  know  how  much  more 
consequence  than  I  ever  seemed  to  be 
before.  Similar  to  this  is  the  going 
to  a  splendid  ball  in  one  of  them; 
only  that  one  is  then  so  much  more 
dressed,  and  must  take  care  to  desire 
Bob,  the  footboy,  to  call  the  cleanest 
coach  he  can  see ;  for,  truth  to  say, 
with  all  their  pleasures,  they  are  a 
little  dirty  inside  sometimes. 

Another  pleasure  is,  on  some  de- 
lightful day  in  summer  to  go  out  of 
town  for  a  little  gipsying  party.  I 
am  sure  I  shall  never  forget  one  we 
had  last  year,  soon  after  I  came  out 
of  the  country,  for  then  I  first  saw 

Charles (I  shall  not  tell  you  his 

name  either) :  the  charming  fellow  sat 
next  to  me ;  and,  oh !  we  had  such  a 
pleasant  ride!  though,  in  point  of 
fact,  I  cannot  now  tell  whether  we 
went  fast  or  slow,  nor  hardly  which 
way  we  went,  only  that  it  was  to 
Richmond;  and  then  we  dined  on 
the  grass  near  Lord  Dysart's  house ; 
and  Charles  played  his  flute,  and  I 
sang ;  and  then  we  strolled  about,  and 
somehow  Charles  and  I  lost  all  the 
rest  of  the  party  for  a  good  while; 
but  really  I  did  not  miss  them,  for 
positively  Charles  is  a  most  bewitch- 
ing fellow.  But  what  has  all  this  to 
do  with  the  pleasures  of  a  hackney- 
coach?  you  will  say,  Mr.  Editor,  for 
I  suppose  you  are  getting  too  old  and 
grumpish  to  care  much  about  my 


opinion  of  Charles:  however,  sir,  I 
assure  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  be- 
lieve, that  we  had  a  pleasant  ride 
home  in  the  coach,  which  waited  for 
us,  and  Charles  somehow  got  next 
to  me  again.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  ne- 
ver forget  that  day;  I  can  neither 
get  Charles  out  of  my  head  nor  out 
of  my  heart,  and  I  never  pass  a  coach- 
stand  that  I  do  not  look  for  No.  659, 
which  was  the  coach  we  went  in. 

Charles  and  I  have  had  many  ram- 
bles together  since  that  time,  and 
we  generally  walk  so  far  as  to  get 
completely  tired ;  then  he  will  have  a 
coach,  and  you  cannot  think,  sir,  un- 
less you  have  tried  in  your  younger 
days,  how  very  charming  is  a  tete-a- 
tete  during  such  a  ride  with  the  per- 
son one  lov —  esteems  I  mean.  Oh ! 
he  has  told  me  such  stories,  sung  me 
such  songs,  and  said  such  soft  and 
beautiful  things  to  me  at  these  times, 
that  I  really  do  love  a  hackney-coach . 
Lord  bless  you,  sir!  I  never  heard 
any  disputing  about  the  fares,  such 
as  poor  Reuben  Rideabout  speaks 
of:  I  suppose  we  always  happened 
to  meet  with  civil  coachmen,  for  what- 
ever they  asked  seemed  to  be  right, 
at  least  I  am  sure  Charles  always 
paid  it  without  a  murmur. 

These,  sir,  are  a  few  of  the  plea- 
sures of  a  hackney-coach,  and  when 
I  have  been  with  Charles,  even  the 
stoppages  so  lamented  over  by  Reu- 
ben were  the  pleasantest  things  in 
the  world  to  us,  for  they  made  our 
ride  the  longer;  and  then,  as  to  fu- 
rious driving,  they  never  could  drive 
half  so  fast  as  I  wished,  when  we 
were  going  to  a  ball,  a  dinner-party, 
or  a  play:  while,  with  respect  to  be- 
ing overturned,  I  almost  think  I  should 
like  it,  because  of  the  eclat  of  the 
!  thing ;  the  delicate  distress,  the  being 
j  handed  out  of  the  window  by  some 


74 


THE   FALLEN    TREE. 


gallatit  man,  the  account  in  the  news- 
papers the  next  morning  of  the  res- 
cue of  Miss  Flyaway  from  destruc- 
tion— oh!  it  would  be  charming  [pro- 
vided to  be  sure  that  one  was  not 
much  hurt. 

I  could  string  together  many  of 
the  uses  of  a  hackney-coach,  but  these 
are  not  strictly  within  the  meaning 
of  the  pleasures  of  a  hackney-coach, 


and,  at  present,  I  have  to  do  with  no- 
thing else.  I  have  attempted  to  give 
you  and  your  readers  a  notion  of  a 
few,  and  but  very  few,  of  the  above- 
named  pleasures :  therefore,  with  a 
sigh  of  pity  for  poor  Reuben  Ride- 
about  and  his  fair  helpmate,  and  a 
wish  for  the  entire  renovation  of  their 
nervous  systems,  I  am,  sir,  yours,  &c. 
Frances  Flyaway. 


THE  FALLEN  TREE. 

Freely  translated  from  the  Spanish. 

Once  beauteous  poplar!  where's  thy  grandeur  now  ? 
Where  is  the  grateful  shade  thy  leaves  once  gave  ? 
Who  hears  the  whispering  of  thy  silvery  leaves  ? 
The  margin  of  this  streamlet  saw  thy  birth, 
And  humbly  kiss'd  thy  root;  its  pearly  dews 
Paid  pleasant  tribute:  nurtur'd  thus  thou'st  grown, 
And  proudly  raised  thy  high-aspiring  head, 
E'en  to  the  skies.     King  of  the  vale,  thy  boughs 
The  birds  have  loaded  with  their  moss-lined  nests. 
Thou  wert  the  sweet  asylum  of  their  loves ; 
And  when  the  sun  peep'd  from  the  rosy  clouds, 
A  thousand  symphonies  have  hail'd  the  dawn, 
And  sweetest  salutations  have  been  pour'd 
By  songsters  gently  wooing  to  their  mates. 

The  fav'rite  haunt  of  all  the  village  youth, 
The  witness  of  their  blissful  converse,  oft 
Thou'st  known  their  anxious  doubts,  their  ardent  joys, 
And  all  the  sweet  vicissitudes  of  love. 
Oft  has  thy  friendly  cover  screen'd  the  maid, 
Whose  blushing  cheek  had  else  betray'd  too  soon, 
That  love's  soft  tones  were  pleasing  to  her  ear. 

The  fainting  reaper  from  the  mid-day  sun 
Has  sought  thy  shelter,  in  the  arms  of  sleep 
Forgot  his  toil,  and  waked,  with  strength  renew'd, 
To  cut  the  golden  harvest.     Now  thou  art 
A  sad  example  of  fell  Winter's  power  : 
His  blast  fierce  sweeping,  as  a  deadly  axe, 
Has  reft  thee  rudely  of  thy  leafy  pomp, 
Thy  glorious  pyramid  of  verdure  low. 
The  rustling  of  thy  foliage  now  is  hush'd, 
Which  erst,  when  waken'd  by  the  passing  breeze, 
Deceiv'd  the  startled  ear  with  mystic  sounds. 
Thy  head  high  waving,  and  thy  polish'd  back 
Carv'd  o'er  with  rustic  symbols,  all  destroy'd ; 


FRENCH  FEMALE  PARLIAMENT. 


75 


And  with  the  blast  is  borne  a  shower  of  leaves, 
Dried  on  thy  sapless  branches,  and  thy  trunk 
Is  broken,  stretched  across  the  vale,  a  sight 
Of  desolation.     Now  no  more  the  herd 
Assemble  round  thy  base,   but  startled  look 
And  graze  more  wide  a-field,  yet  seeking  thee. 
The  frighten'd  birds  wheel  circling  round  thy  head, 
And  seek  their  nests  in  vain.     The  shepherd  turns 
With  rapid  step  aside,  his  carol  blithe 
Broken  and  chang'd  to  mourning  at  thy  loss. 

One  solitary  tenant  yet  remains, 
The  wailing  turtle  ;  on  thy  wither 'd  stem 
She  warbles  forth  her  plaintive  note, 
And  tells  at  once  thy  story  and  her  own. 
The  mountain  echoes  still  repeat  the  strain ; 
And  from  thy  hollow  trunk  an  awful  voice 
Seems  to  the  meditative  mind  to  rise, 
And  ask,   "  If  vigour  such  as  mine  decays, 
What  is  the  strength  and  what  the  life  of  man?" 

Felix. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  PARLIAMENT. 


Fakis,  June  20. 

chamber  of  peeresses. 
Madame  la  Duchesse  Sans-Cle- 
mence  rose  to  call  the  attention  of 
the  Chamber  to  a  subject  of  very 
considerable  importance,  the  proper 
exercise  of  the  fan.  In  former  days 
it  was  considered  as  a  very  essential 
branch  in  the  education  of  young  fe- 
males of  fashion;  but  latterly,  she 
was  sorry  to  say,  it  had  been  neg- 
lected, and  was  now  fallen  into  dis- 
use.— (Cries  of  "  No,  no,"  from  seve- 
ral members). —The  noble  lady  resum- 
ed :  "  I  apprehend  that  my  illustri- 
ous colleagues  misunderstand  me;  I 
do  not  mean  to  say,  that  the  fan  itself 
is  fallen  into  disuse,  but  certainly  the 
proper  exercise  of  it  is ;  and  when 
the  noble  Chamber  considers  how 
singularly  useful  a  fan  may  be  made 
in  supporting  the  privileges  of  the 
sex,  I  am  sure  they  will  agree  with 
me,  that  no  time  ought  to  be  lost  in 
training  the  juvenile  part  of  the  com- 


munity to  the  proper  use  of  it.  I 
move,  therefore,  that  a  committee  of 
twelve  members  be  immediately  ap- 
pointed, to  take  into  consideration 
the  best  methods  of  restoring  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  fan  in  the  manner  in 
which  it  was  formerly  practised,  that 
is  to  say,  as  a  weapon  of  offence  and 
defence  in  all  parleys  between  the 
sexes." 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Ruse. 
"  I  second  she  motion  of  my  noble 
friend,  and  I  rejoice  to  find  that  so 
important  a  branch  of  education  is 
brought  under  the  attention  of  the 
illustrious  Chamber.  It  is  peculiar- 
ly necessary  at  the  present  stormy 
period,  a  period  unexampled  in  the 
annals  of  French  history,  for  the  dan- 
ger with  which  female  power,  hither- 
to so  triumphant  under  every  form  of 
o-overnment  in  France,  is  menaced. 
In  such  a  crisis,  it  is  the  peculiar 
duty  of  the  female  legislators  of 
this  kingdom  to  take  every  effectual 


76 


FRENCH  FEMALE  J'AHLIAMr.XT. 


means  of  quelling  this  revolutionary 
spirit  in  our  male  subjects;  and  cer- 
tainly nothing  can  tend  more  to 
bring  them  back  to  their  allegiance, 
than  the  revival  of  the  ancient  exer- 
cise of  the  fan."  The  illustrious 
member  here  went  into  a  very  long 
dissertation  on  the  subject,  and  ex- 
patiated with  great  eloquence  and 
ingenuity  on  the  various  ways  in 
which  this  little  implement  might  be 
used :  first  to  obtain  a  lover,  then  to 
convert  him  into  a  husband,  and, 
lastly,  to  keep  him  in  that  state  of 
subjection,  which  it  is  necessary, 
for  the  real  interests  and  glory  of 
France,  that  all  married  men  should 
be  under  to  their  wives. 

Madame  la  Comtesse  le  Sophiste 
opposed  the  motion,  upon  the  ground 
that  it  was  unnecessary.  Some  forty 
years  ago  indeed,  when  the  female 
mind  was  in  comparative  darkness, 
measures  of  this  kind  might  have  been 
resorted  to  with  effect ;  but  at  present, 
when  the  intellect  of  woman  was  con- 
fessedly equar*to  that  of  men,  it  was 
absurd  to  talk  of  such  a  puerile  me- 
thod of  making  conquests,  or  sup- 
porting authority,  when  both  objects 
might  be  so  much  better  accomplish- 
ed by  the  exercise  of  a  lady's  rea- 
soning powers. 

Madame  la  Vicomtesse  de  Ruse 
never  knew  a  lady's  reasoning  pow- 
ers of  any  other  use  than  to  fright- 
en away  a  lover,  or  exasperate  a  hus- 
band ;  and  if  such  disclosures  were 
allowable  in  that  Chamber,  she  could 
bring  many  instances  to  prove,  that 
the  husbands  of  female  philosophers 
were  the  most  refractory  and  the 
worst  governed  subjects  in  all  France. 
The  fact  was,  that  the  march  of  in- 
tellect, as  it  is  called,  has  been  pret- 
ty equal  with  both  sexes :  the  wo- 
men had  abjured  what  they  styled 


the  prejudices  of  their  grandmothers, 
and  had  laid  aside,  with  their  rouge 
and  brocades,  the  regular  system 
which  they  formerly  pursued  for  the 
government  of  husbands  and  lovers : 
it  was  the  first  object  with  our  mo- 
thers, all  their  actions  were  made 
subservient  to  it,  from  their  choice 
of  a  cicisbeo  to  their  choice  of  a 
feather;  they  had  no  other  end  in 
view  than  that  of  preserving  their 
own  authority  and  aiding  the  cause 
of  their  sex:  but  this  great  object 
had  been  shamefully  abandoned ;  wo- 
men now  expect  to  reign  without 
i  trouble ;  they  present  their  minds, 
like  their  faces,  unvarnished  to  their 
husbands,  who  take  the  advantage 
that  might  be  expected  of  their 
mal-administration,  to  diminish  their 
power. 

Madame  la  Baronne  Bonne-  Grace 
was  very  sorry  to  see  so  many  illus- 
trious members  take  a  view  of  this 
subject,  at  once  so  gloomy  and  so 
unfounded.  It  was  really  lamentable 
that  party  spirit  should  induce  noble 
ladies  to  say  what  they  would  not 
themselves  believe ;  because,  as  the 
eyes  of  all  Europe  were  doubtless 
fixed  upon  the  deliberations  of  that 
Chamber,  these  statements  might 
have  some  effect  in  lowering  the  glo- 
ry of  the  nation  in  the  opinion  of 
foreigners.  The  motion,  however, 
should  have  her  support,  but  not  on 
the  grounds  alleged  by  the  mover. 
She  should  vote  for  it  merely  as  an 
ornamental  branch  of  education,  the 
knowledge  of  which  she  thought 
would  qualify  a  woman  to  appear 
with  a  better  ah-  in  society;  and  for 
that  purpose  she  judged  it  expedient 
that  a  bill  should  be  brought  into  the 
Chamber,  stating  the  various  uses  to 
which  the  fan  might  be  applied  to 
express  the  different  affections  and 


FRENCH  FEMALE  PARLIAMENT. 


77 


passions  of  the  mind,  and  shew  how 
far  it  might  be  made  useful  in  silen- 
cing an  antagonist,  mortifying  a  rival, 
or  humbling  a  dependent;  besides 
exhibiting  a  lady's  personal  graces  in 
the  most  various  and  contrasted 
points  of  view. 

After  some  conversation  upon  the 
subject,  la  Duchesse  Sans-Clemence 
consented  to  withdraw  her  motion 
for  the  present;  and  to  bring  in,  in 
its  stead,  a  bill  in  the  form  recom- 
mended by  her  illustrious  friend. 

Madame  la  Comtcsse  Trts-Douce- 
ment  presented  a  petition  from  the 
worshipful  society  of  demoiselles 
(Tun  certain  age,  praying  for  a  re- 
dress of  grievances.  The  petition 
stated,  that  the  worshipful  body  were, 
in  a  great  degree,  excluded  from  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  Frenchwo- 
men, not  from  any  fault  of  their 
own,  but  merely  because  they  were 
unmarried;  that,  owing  to  this  cir- 
cumstance, they  were  generally  treat- 
ed with  neglect,  and  in  many  instan- 
ces with  rudeness.  They  had  no  voice 
either  in  politics  or  fashion;  and,  what 
was  worse,  they  were  deprived  of 
all  chance  of  bettering  their  condi- 
tions by  matrimony,  owing  to  the 
prejudices  raised  against  them  by  the 
younger  and  the  married  part  of  the 
sex.  They  prayed  that  some  steps 
might  speedily  be  taken  for  their  re- 
lief; and,  as  one  method  of  better- 
ing their  condition,  they  humbly  so- 
licited the  illustrious  Chamber  to  pass 
a  law,  forbidding  widows  to  marry  a 
third  time.  Such  a  law  might  be  of 
material  service  to  the  petitioners,  in- 
asmuch as  it  would  increase  their 
chance  of  entering  the  holy  state; 
and  it  could  not  possibly  be  deemed 
oppressive  or  injurious  to  their  ad- 
versaries, since  it  certainly  was  con- 
trary to  all  principles  of  justice  and 


equity,  that  some  of  the  sex  should 
have  the  good  fortune  to  procure 
three  husbands,  while  others  were 
not  able  even  to  get  one. 

This  petition  gave  rise  to  a  very 
long  and  warm  debate :  some  few  of 
the  senior  peeresses  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  demoiselles  with  great 
spirit;  but  the  majority  contended, 
that  nothing  could  be  done  for  their 
relief,  without  trenching  upon  those 
fundamental  principles  of  the  consti- 
tution, by  which  the  rights  and  pri- 
vileges of  the  married  part  of  the 
sex  were  secured.  They  argued 
that  the  demoiselles  d'un  certain  age 
were  literally  dead  in  the  eye  of  the 
law,  inasmuch  as  they  were  incapable 
of  exercising  the  most  precious  right 
of  woman-conquest:  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, therefore,  their  present 
condition  was  the  most  favourable 
they  could  expect,  and  they  would 
act  wisely  in  not  bringing  the  matter 
under  any  discussion,  since  it  was  ve- 
ry doubtful  whether,  in  their  state 
of  non-existence,  they  could  have  any 
right  to  mix  with  those  whom  the 
law  regarded  as  being  actually  and 
bonajide  alive.  As  to  the  proposed 
measure  for  preventing  the  third 
marriage  of  widows,  it  would  be  a 
most  unconstitutional  and  imprudent 
step,  and  one  which  the  Chamber 
could  not,  with  any  regard  to  its  own 
interests,  take,  since  none  of  the  mem- 
bers could  tell  how  they  might  here- 
after suffer  by  the  operation  of  such 
a  law. 

The  above  arguments  formed  the 
substance  of  several  very  brilliant 
speeches,  which  our  limits  will  not 
permit  us  to  give  at  length.  The 
sense  of  the  Chamber  being  taken, 
the  petition  was  negatived  by  a  very 
large  majority,  and  the  Chamber  ad- 
journed at  four  o'clock. 


78 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM, 

Or.  the  Foster-Brothers  :  A  Talc. 
(Continued  from  p.  28.) 


Soon  after  his  return,  the  marquis 
took  his  lady  and  son  to  visit  a  neigh- 
bouring estate,  which  he  had  pur- 
chased. This  was  the  first  time  that 
Charles  had  been  separated  from  his 
foster-brother,  and  not  all  the  ca- 
resses nor  the  indulgence  of  his  pa- 
rents could  console  him  for  the  ab- 
sence of  his  dear  Frederic.  He  pout- 
ed and  fretted  from  the  moment  he 
quitted  the  Chateau  de  Blainmore 
till  he  returned  to  it.  This  circum- 
stance decided  the  fate  of  Frederic: 
the  marquis  and  his  lady  agreed, 
that  the  foster-brothers  should  not 
again  be  separated;  and  Frederic 
was  accordingly  taken  home  to  the 
chateau,  where  he  received  the  same 
education  that  was  bestowed  upon 
the  young  comte. 

The  first  rudiments  of  instruction 
were  given  to  the  two  boys  by  the 
marchioness  herself;  but  as  soon  as 
they  were  old  enough  to  be  placed 
under  the  care  of  a  tutor,  the  mar- 
quis engaged  M.  Robert,  a  man  of 
worth  and  learning,  for  their  precep- 
tor. To  this  good  man's  great  mor- 
tification, he  found  an  idle  and  refrac- 
tory pupil  in  the  young  comte :  vain 
was  every  effort  to  inspire  him  with 
a  love  of  learning;  he  neglected  his 
lessons,  derided  his  tutor,  and  passed 
his  time  in  low  and  mischievous  pur- 
suits. Frederic,  on  the  contrary, 
devoted  himself  to  his  studies  with 
great  perseverance,  and  as  he  had 
really  an  uncommon  capacity,  he 
made  great  progress.  M.  Robert, 
who  knew  nothing  of  the  art  of  flat- 
tery, daily  contrasted  the  diligence, 
talents,  and  good  disposition  of  the 
young  peasant,  with  the  idleness,  ob- 


stinacy, and  bad  habits  of  the  little 
lord.  The  marquis  lectured  his  son, 
the  marchioness  half  scolded,  half 
coaxed  him ;  all  was  in  vain,  he  nei- 
ther improved  in  learning  nor  morals. 
The  only  effect  of  the  joint  remon- 
strances of  father,  mother,  and  tutor, 
was  to  add  one  more  fault  to  those  he 
inherited  from  nature:  he  began  to 
envy  Frederic  the  praises  which  eve- 
ry body  lavished  upon  him,  and  he 
soon  hated  as  much  as  ever  he  had 
loved  him. 

In  all  his  juvenile  scrapes,  Charles 
found  a  firm  friend  and  adherent  in 
his  nurse.  She  had  always  some- 
thing to  say  in  vindication  of  his  con- 
duct, and  was  never  without  an  ex- 
cuse for  his  wildest  sallies:  even  the 
praises  which  were  lavished  upon  her 
son  did  not  appear  to  console  her 
for  the  disgrace  of  Charles ;  and 
Maurice  often  reproached  her  for 
listening  with  coldness  to  the  eulogi- 
ums  which  the  good  M.  Robert  be- 
stowed upon  their  boy.  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  pride  and  delight 
with  which  Maurice  heard  the  wor- 
thy tutor;  he  thanked  heaven  a  thou- 
sand times  for  having  given  him  such 
a  son  to  be  the  comfort  of  his  old 
age;  and  daily  implored  blessings 
upon  him  through  whose  generosity 
the  promising  talents  of  the  youth 
were  thus  allowed  free  scope  to  ex- 
pand. 

The  excellence  of  Frederic's  dis- 
position had  made  the  marquis  his 
warm  friend.  He  often  sighed  as  he 
contrasted  the  son  of  the  peasant 
with  his  own:  but  what  perhaps 
above  any  thing  else  raised  Frederic 
in  his  esteem  was  his  behaviour  to 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


79 


Charles,  whom  he  always  seemed  to 
love  as  a  brother,  and  whose  injuri- 
ous conduct  to  himself  he  either  pass- 
ed in  silence,  or  strove  to  excuse ;  but 
this  was  done  in  a  natural  and  unaf- 
fected manner,  for  the  young  peasant 
had  not  a  trait  of  meanness  or  servili- 
ty in  his  temper;  and  with  all  his 
pride  of  birth,  De  Blainmore  was 
compelled  to  acknowledge,  that  it 
was  possible  for  a  man  who  knew  no- 
thing of  his  ancestors  to  have  a  great 
soul. 

When  the  education  of  the  two 
youths  was  finished,  the  marquis  sig- 
nified to  Frederic  that  it  was  his  wish 
to  retain  him  near  his  person;  and  in 
order  to  relieve  him  from  the  irk- 
some idea  of  dependence,  he  made 
him  his  private  secretary,  with  a 
handsome  salary.  This  appointment 
added  fresh  fuel  to  the  rancour  of 
Charles:  he  tried  all  he  could  to  in- 
duce his  mother  to  influence  the 
marquis  to  part  with  the  object  of  his 
hatred;  but  the  marchioness,  though 
extremely  fond  of  her  son,  rejected 
the  proposal  with  indignation.  He 
then  tried  what  he  could  do  to  imbit- 
ter  the  young  man's  mind  by  taunts 
and  reproaches,  in  the  hope  of  draw- 
ing him  into  a  quarrel ;  but  Frederic 
was  aware  of  his  object,  and  kept  as 
much  as  possible  out  of  his  way. 

Things  had  been  for  some  time  in 
this  state,  when  the  Comte  de  Beau- 
sejour  informed  his  father,  that  he 
had  received  an  invitation  from  their 
neighbour,  the  Baron  d'Orsan,  to 
join  a  hunting  party,  and  that  he 
should  in  consequence  be  absent  for 
three  days.  The  three  days  passed, 
and  two  more  followed,  without  any 
tidings  of  the  comte.  The  marquis, 
impatient  and  somewhat  uneasy  at 
his  absence,  declared  his  intention 

Vol.  II.  No.  VIII. 


of  sroms.  to  the  chateau  of  the  no- 
bleman  whom  he  was  visiting.  This 
project  alarmed  Frederic,  who,  from 
what  he  knew  of  Charles's  habits, 
felt  pretty  sure  that  he  was  absent 
upon  some  mad  plan  or  other,  and 
he  solicited  the  marquis's  permission 
to  go  in  his  stead,  to  hasten  the  re- 
turn of  the  comte.  The  marquis 
agreed,  and  Frederic  set  out  for 
Toulouse;  but  instead  of  going  to 
the  Chateau  D'Orsan,  which  was 
near  it,  he  entered  a  tavern  of  no 
very  good  repute,  where  he  dreaded, 
yet  expected,  to  find  Charles.  He 
called  for  some  refreshment,  sat 
down,  and  looked  about  him  at  a 
motley  group,  some  of  whom  were 
at  play,  others  engaged  in  drinking 
and  roaring  loose  songs ;  but,  to  his 
infinite  delight,  Charles  was  not 
among  them,  and  he  was  just  begin- 
ning to  hope  that  he  had  been  mis- 
taken in  his  conjectures,  when  a  vio- 
lent uproar  began  in  an  adjoining 
apartment,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
tumult  he  distinguished  the  voice  of 
his  friend.  He  hastily  rushed  into 
the  room,  and  was  just  in  time  to 
throw  himself  between  Charles  and 
a  ruffian,  who,  grasping  the  comte 
by  the  collar  and  half  unsheathing 
his  sword,  was  swearing  that  he  had 
played  upon  tlie  square,  and  would 
have  his  money. 

"  It  is  false,"  vociferated  the  comte, 
"  you  are  a  cheat  and  a  villain;  and 
if  I  had  arms,  I  think  I  should  soon 
prove  that  you  are  a  coward  also." — 
"  Silence,  comte"  cried  Frederic; 
"  for  the  sake  of  your  own  dignity 
do  not  talk  of  arms  in  a  cause  like 
this." — "  The  scoundrel  has  stripped 
me  of  all,  and  even  more  than  I  had 
about  me,"  replied  the  comte  sullen- 
ly.— "  How  much  do  you  owe  him  !" 
M 


80 


THIS    CASTLK    AND    THE    FAItJff. 


— "I!  I  owe  him  nothing.  I  tell 
you  the  fellow  is  a  cheat." — "  A 
cheat !"  cried  the  other  in  a  bluster- 
ing tone.  "  I  am  a  man  of  honour, 
and  it  is  you  who  will  be  a  cheat  if 
you  do  not  pay  me  the  ten  pieces 
you  owe  me." — "  Here  they  are,  sir," 
cried  Frederic,  throwing  down  the 
money;  and  immediately  adding, 
"  Come,  comte,  your  father  is  waiting 
for  you,"  he  took  the  arm  of  the 
unresisting  Charles,  who  accompa- 
nied him  out  of  the  house  in  silence ; 
but  when,  on  looking  round,  he  did 
not  see  the  marquis,  he  suddenly 
stopped,  exclaiming,  "  Where  is  my 
father?"  Frederic  was  now  obliged  to 
acknowledge  that  the  marquis  was 
still  at  Blainmore,  and  Charles  would 
have  returned  to  the  goodly  compa- 
ny he  had  just  quitted,  but  Frederic 
grasped  his  arm,  and  would  not  be 
shaken  off  till  he  had  contrived  in  a 
few  words  to  let  him  know  the  ex- 
treme peril  of  his  situation.  "  Your 
father,"  said  he,  as  he  concluded, 
"  may  yet  be  kept  in  ignorance  of 
what  has  passed :  if  you  return  to  him 
directly,  I  will  keep  your  secret ;  but 
1  swear  to  you,  comte,  that  if  you 
persist  in  going  back  to  those  infa- 
mous wretches  from  whom  I  have 
rescued  you,  I  will  instantly  reveal  to 
the  marquis  all  that  I  Imv.e  seen." 

Maddened  almost  to  be  thus  com- 
manded by  one  whom  he  considered 
as  so  much  his  inferior,  the  enraged 
De  Beausejour  struck  Frederic  a 
violent  blow,  which  he  followed  up 
by  a  torrent  of  the  vilest  epithets : 
coward,  scoundrel,  informer,  spy, 
were  the  names  which  he  lavished  on 
his  foster-brother;  and  can  we  won- 
der if  this  accumulation  of  injury 
and  insult  roused  the  feelings  of  the 
youth  to  accept  the  challenge  which  j 


the  proud  comte  said  he  honoured 
him  in  giving. 

Six  in  the  morning  of  the  next 
day  was  fixed  for  their  meeting  in 
the  marquis's  park,  and  they  then 
parted,  each  for  his  respective  home. 
De  Beausejour,  clothing  the  rancour 
of  his  heart  in  smiles,  hastened  to 
his  father,  who,  in  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  safe  and  so  speedily  re- 
turned, almost  forgot  his  anger. 
"  But  where  is  Frederic?"  said  he. — 
"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  comte; 
"  I  did  not  see  him  as  I  entered." — 
"  But  have  not  you  seen  him  at  the 
chateau  of  the  Baron  d'Orsan?  he 
went  there  this  morning  to  seek  you." 
— "  He  must  then  have  arrived  after 
I  left  it;  and  as  they  are  so  hospi- 
table, the  marquis  or  his  lady  has 
probably  detained  him."  M.  de 
Blainmore  was  satisfied  with  this  ex- 
planation; and  his  son  soon  made  a 
pretext  of  fatigue  to  retire  to  his 
own  apartment. 

The  hatred  Charles  felt  for  Frede- 
ric suggested  to  him  a  number  of 
projects,  which  he  adopted  and  re- 
jected alternately.  Wicked  as  he 
was,  he  shrunk  from  the  thought  of 
imbruing  his  hand  in  the  young  man's 
blood;  there  was  besides  another 
consideration  which  rendered  him 
averse  to  meeting  his  foster-brother 
in  the  field — this  was  the  chance  that 
Frederic's  skill,  equal,  if  not  superior, 
to  his  own  in  fencing,  might  place 
Beausejour's  life  at  his  mercy.  The 
comte  knew  him  too  well  to  doubt 
the  part  he  would  take  should  such 
be  the  case;  but  the  idea  of  owing 
his  life  to  Frederic's  generosity  was 
a  thousand  times  more  insupportable 
than  death  itself.  Thus  tormented 
by  a  hatred  which  he  saw  no  pro- 
spect of  gratifying,  Beausejour  pass- 


THE    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


81 


ed  the  night  in  a  vain  endeavour  to 
form  some  plan  for  ruining  his  foster- 
brother  in  the  opinion  of  the  mar- 
quis, and  of  banishing  him  for  ever 
from  the  castle. 

Let  us  return  to  Frederic,  whose 
mind  was  agitated  by  far  different 
emotions.  Scarcely  had  he  accept- 
ed the  challenge  given  by  the  haugh- 
ty comte,  when  his  conscience  smote 
him.  All  the  kindness  of  the  mar- 
quis to  himself  and  his  family  rose 
to  his  view  in  the  liveliest  colours; 
and  what  return,  thought  he,  am  I 
about  to  make  him?  To  attempt  the 
life  of  his  only  son,  of  the  sole  sup- 
port of  his  ancient  house.  Ah,  my 
God !  can  I  be  such  a  monster  of  in- 
gratitude? No,  let  me  rather  abandon 
for  ever  my  home,  my  parents,  and 
my  benefactors!  I  must  be  miser- 
able, but  at  least  I  shall  not  be  guilty. 
In  the  midst  of  these  reflections,  he 
arrived  at  the  house  of  his  father;  he 
threw  himself  into  a  chair  with  an 
absent  and  melancholy  air.  Marga- 
ret paid  no  attention  to  his  sadness, 
but  his  sighs  caught  the  ear  of  Mau- 
rice, who  inquired  in  a  kind  tone 
what  ailed  him.  Desirous  to  con- 
ceal the  cause  of  his  trouble  from 
his  father,  he  pretended  illness  and 
went  to  bed,  but  we  may  easily  con- 
ceive that  sleep  did  not  visit  his  eyes. 
As  soon  as  he  was  assured  that  his 
parents  were  in  bed,  he  rose  softly, 
put  a  few  necessaries  in  a  small  port- 
manteau, and  then  sat  down  and 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  the  mar- 
quis: 

My  generous  Protector, 

When  you  receive  die  news  of 
my  departure,  I  shall  be  already  some 
miles  from  you.  A  fatal  cause,  a  secret 
which  I  dare  not  reveal,  obliges  me  to 
quit  you  for  ever.     O  my  benefactor! 


:  do  justice  to  the  heart  of  Frederic !  Think 
not  that  lie  can  ever  forget  the  ber  fit* 
you  ha'  re  lavished  upon  him.  I 
compelled  to  pass  the  rest  of  my  days 
far  from  you,  who  have  been  more  than 
a  father  to  me,  never  shall  you  be  forgot- 
ten. Ah !  how  could  I  fulfil  the  severe 
duty  which  obliges  me  to  exile  myself, 
did  I  not  know  that  my  unfortunate  pa- 
rents will  still  find  in  your  bounty  the 
same  support  they  have  hitherto  expe- 
rienced from  it !  O  my  lord !  need  I 
appeal  to  your  generous  heart  in  behalf 
of  those  unfortunates?  Need  I  entreat  you 
to  console  them  for  the  compulsory  ab- 
sence of  their  only  child  ?  No,  I  bequeath 
them  to  you  with  confidence.  All  that  I 
have  to  ask  for  myself  is,  that  you  will 
believe  that,  in  quitting  you,  I  carry  with 
me  the  truest,,  the  most  unalterable  at- 
tachment to  yourself  and  family;  and 
that  I  shall  retain  to  my  latest  breath 
the  most  lively  remembrance  of  all  your 
goodness  to  the  unfortunate 

Frederic 

Frederic  finished  his  letter  a  few 
minutes  after  daybreak,  and  he  then 
hastened  to  the  chateau,  where  he 
ordered  a  groom  to  saddle  a  horse, 
and  conduct  it  to  the  entrance  of  the 
village  of  Blagnac,  and  to  wait  there 
till  he  should  join  him.  "  Make 
haste,"  said  he  to  the  groom,  "  for  I 
have  some  miles  to  travel  before  the 
marquis  gets  up,  and  you  know  that 
he  is  an  early  riser."  The  man  pro- 
mised to  obey,  and  the  son  of  Mau- 
rice returned  for  the  last  time  to  his 
paternal  home.  He  waited  with  im- 
patience for  the  moment  of  his  mo- 
ther's leaving  her  chamber,  and  then 
stealing  softly  into  it,  he  approached 
the  bed  where  his  father  was  still 
sleeping.  At  this  moment  Maurice 
awoke ;  he  tenderly  returned  the 
embrace  of  his  son,  but  alarmed  at 
finding  his  cheek  wet  with  tears, 
M  2 


82 


THE   CASTLli    AND    TIIK    FARM* 


he  inquired  the  cause  of  his  sadness. 
Frederic  tried  to  speak^  but  emotion 
choked  his  utterance.  The  old  man, 
still  more  alarmed,  insisted  with 
yet  greater  vehemence.  Frederic 
could  not  answer ;  he  pressed  his  fa- 
ther hastily  in  his  arms,  and  ran  out  of 
the  room,  while  the  affrighted  Mau- 
rice called  after  him  in  vain  to  return. 

Throwing  his  portmanteau  across 
his  shoulder,  he  hastened  to  the  vil- 
lage of  Blagnac,  where  he  found  the 
groom  waiting  for  him.  He  fixed 
his  portmanteau  on  the  crupper  of 
the  saddle,  and  giving  the  man  the 
letter  which  he  had  written  for  the 
marquis,  he  rode  off  with  the  rapi- 
dity of  lightning. 

In  the  mean  time  his  adversary 
had  formed  a  project  by  which  he 
hoped  to  avoid  the  rencounter,  and 
banish  Frederic  from  the  castle.  He 
heard  the  voice  of  Margaret  ap- 
proaching his  chamber,  and  he  im- 
mediately began  to  talk  loudly  and 
in  an  angry  tone,  as  if  he  was  ad- 
dressing Frederic.  His  stratagem 
succeeded ;  Margaret  drew  near,  and 
hearing  him  protest  that  Frederic 
should  not  escape  his  vengeance,  she 
called  to  her  son  to  come  to  her.  No 
answer  was  returned:  she  called 
again;  the  comte  opened  his  door 
and  came  out  to  her,  but  he  took 
care  to  shut  the  door  after  him.  "  I 
must  speak  with  Frederic  instantly," 
cried  the  alarmed  mother,  attempting 
to  open  the  door. — "  How !"  cried 
the  comte,  "  what  insolence  is  this  ? 
Would  you  force  your  way  into  my 
apartment?" — "  O  my  lord,  I  know 
all!  you  are  about  to  fight  a  duel 
with  my  son."  The  comte,  enchant- 
ed at  the  success  of  his  project,  de- 
nied the  fact  in  a  manner  which  con- 
firmed Margaret's  suspicions,  and 
finding  that  she  could  not  obtain  ac- 


cess to  Frederic,  she  flew  to  the 
apartment  of  the  marquis,  in  order  to 
get  him  to  stop  the  combat. 

The  comte  had  foreseen  this  step, 
and  was  prepared  to  make  his  ad- 
vantage of  it.  He  flew  to  the  park, 
where  he  expected  to  find  Frederic, 
in  the  hope  that  before  the  combat 
could  begin,  they  would  be  separated 
by  the  marquis.  What  was  his  dis- 
appointment when  he  found  that 
Frederic  was  not  yet  arrived!  He 
did  not  doubt  the  bravery  of  his  an- 
tagonist, yet  the  hour  had  just  struck. 
No  doubt,  thought  he,  he  is  coming; 
and  he  called  Frederic  several  times 
very  loudly.  "  The  coward!"  at 
length  exclaimed  the  enraged  Charles, 
"  he  will  not  meet  me:  perhaps  he 
will  discover  all  to  my  father;  but  at 
least  I  may  be  beforehand  with  him. 
I  have  still  the  power  to  cover  him 
with  disgrace."  At  this  moment  he 
heard  footsteps ;  he  threw  away  one 
of  his  pistols,  and  firing  the  other,  he 
said  with  a  loud  voice,  "  Traitor! 
heaven  has  preserved  my  life  to  pu- 
nish thy  perfidy !" 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words, 
when  he  saw  his  father  approaching, 
accompanied  by  Margaret:  they  were 
followed  by  Madame  de  Blainmore 
and  Maurice ;  but  the  marchioness, 
alarmed  at  the  sound  of  the  pistol, 
was  obliged  to  support  herself  on  the 
arm  of  Maurice.  At  the  sight  of 
his  father,  Charles  made  a  feint  of 
escaping;  the  marquis  stopped  him. 
"  Where  is  Frederic?"  said  he  in  a 
menacing  tone. — "  The  coward  has 
fled." — "  My  son  a  coward!"  exclaim- 
ed Maurice  advancing,  "  impossible, 
my  lord." — "  Stop,  Maurice,"  cried 
the  marquis,  "  Frederic  cannot  be  far 
off;  I  will  examine  him  and  Charles 
together.  Search  the  park,"  conti- 
nued he  to  his  servants,  who  had  fol- 


THK    TIIKEli    BROTHERS. 


83 


lowed  him  from  the  castle,  "  and 
bring  him  to  me  directly."  The  groom 
who  had  attended  the  son  of  Maurice 
came  up  at  this  moment.  "  My  lord," 
said  he,  "  Mr.  Frederic  is  a  great 
way  from  the  chateau  by  this  time, 
and  here  is  a  letter  which  he  has  de- 
sired me  to  give  you." — "  A  letter !" 
cried  the  marquis  with  astonishment; 
"  where  then  have  you  seen  Frede- 
ric?"— "  I  have  left  him  at  the  village 
of  Blagnac,  where  I  went  at  daybreak 
to  take  his  horse." 

At  these  words  the  marquis  look- 
ed earnestly  at  his  son,  whose  height- 
ened colour  and  disordered  air  be- 
trayed his  guilt  but  too  plainly.  De 
Blainmore  sent  his  servants  back  to 
the  chateau,  but  desired  Margaret 
and  Maurice  to  remain  with  him. 
When  the  others  were  out  of  hear- 
ing, he  read  the  letter  from  Frederic, 
which  moved  him  even  to  tears. 
As  to  Maurice,  no  language  can 
paint  his  despair:  equally  proud  and 
fond  of  his  son,  whom  he  saw  him- 


self deprived  of  through  the  malice 
of  De  Beausejour,  he  could  not  re- 
strain himself  from  venting  the  bit- 
terest reproaches  against  that  young 
nobleman,  who  replied  with  a  degree 
of  rage  and  haughtiness,  which  only 
served  to  confirm  the  opinion  that  his 
flith er  and  Maurice  entertained  of 
his  guilt. 

In  a  few  days  after  the  departure 
of  his  darling  son,  the  poor  old  man 
declared  to  the  marquis  his  resolu- 
tion to  quit  his  dwelling.  "  I  can  no 
longer  bear,"  said  he,  "  to  remain 
in  a  place  where  I  have  so  often  seen 
Frederic,  and  where  I  shall  never  see 
him  again."  The  generous  De 
Blainmore  respected  the  feelings  of 
his  vassal ;  he  placed  him  rent-free  in 
a  small  but  pretty  farm  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  chateau,  and  tried  to 
console  him  with  the  hope  that  Fre- 
deric could  not  remain  long  conceal- 
ed from  the  strict  search  which  he 
should  cause  to  be  made  after  him. 
(To  be  continued.) 


GHOST  STORIES.  —  No.  II. 

THE    THREE    BROTHERS. 


(Continued 

"  Vo  us  riave%  rien  a  declarer,  mes- 
sieurs!"— "  Have  you  any  thing  pro- 
hibited or  paying  duty?"  is  the  first 
question  with  which  a  public  convey- 
ance is  greeted  in  France  on  arriv- 
ing at  the  town  of  its  destination. — 
"  Vospasseports  V  is  the  second ;  and 
a  general  descent  of  the  passengers, 
and  examination  of  the  cqffres,  seats, 
&c.  of  the  coach,  invariably  succeeds. 
This  ceremony,  when  travelling  from 
the  interior,  is  but  superficially  per- 
formed; and  just  as  the  insides  were 
on  the  point  of  remounting,  one  of 
those  plagues  to  modern  tourists,  a 
green-coated  doiianier,  bawled  out, 


from  p.  15.) 

"  Un  moment  s'il  nous  plait!  on  va 
nous  faire  la  visite" — an  act  of  po- 
liteness seldom  omitted  on  your  ar- 
rival in  France.  Our  friends  were  im- 
mediately conducted  to  a  little  guard- 
house a  few  yards  distant,  where  the 
small  portion  of  tobacco  on  their  per- 
sons having  been  weighed  and  com- 
mented upon,  was  eventually  return- 
ed. An  employe  had  been  dispatch- 
ed for  Madame  Rouge,  the  female 
examiner  attached  to  the  bureau, 
who,  politely  conducting  her  charge 
to  an  inner  room,  dispossessed  Ma- 
dame Martin  in  a  few  minutes  of  her 
garland  of  tobacco,  and  left  her  bour- 


84 


THt   THKEK   BROTHERS. 


geols  to fumcr  sans  pipe  for  the  rest  II 
of  the  year. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  they  were 
permitted  to  remount;  madamc  ana- 
thematizing the  stranger,  who,  as  she 
was  convinced,  had  been  the  cause 
of  her  misfortune;  and  Hyacinthe, 
notwithstanding  the  evidence  of  his 
senses,  endeavouring  to  flatter  him- 
self into  the  belief  that  her  suspicions 
were  correct.  Mathieu  alone  remain- 
ed perfectly  silent  and  calm,  till  re- 
turning madame  the  tobacco,  which 
he  had  brought  through,  he  intima- 
ted, that  if  she  could  possibly  spare 
a  small  portion,  it  would  be  extreme- 
ly acceptable.  "  You  never  smoke,"  in- 
terrupted his  brother;  "  besides,  the 
leaves  are  not  cured." — "  Cest  egal, 
I  can  never  obtain  really  good  stuff  j 
and  I  have  an  idea  of  doctoring  some 
myself."     The  civility  of  a  French- 
woman obliged  her  to  proffer  a  por- 
tion, which  was  immediately  accept- 
ed with  a  profusion  of  thanks.    The 
wine-merchant,  however,  declined  re- 
ceiving any,  as,  although  an  inveterate 
smoker,   he  would  not  deprive  her 
of  a  leaf  of  her  trifling  remnant.  The 
diligence  now  rattled    through   the 
gate,  and  turning  sharp  to  the  right, 
drew   up    in   one  of  the   few  open 
spaces  of  St.  Malo.     The  brothers, 
after  expressing  a  hope  that  the  lady 
might  find  Monsieur  Martin  in  excel- 
lent health,  wished  her  a  good  even- 
ing, and  hastened  to  the  principal 
inn  of  the  place.     On  entering  the 
salle  a  manger,  their  first  inquiry 
was    naturally  for    M.   de    Vailery, 
who  it  appeared  had  left  word  that, 
in  the  event  of  the  arrival  of  two  gen- 
tlemen, they  might  be  requested  to 
remain  there,  and  that  he  would  wait 
on  them  the  following  morning.     A 
bottle  of  Bordeaux,  warmed  with  su- 
gar and  cinnamon,  was  with  Hya- 


cinthe the  order  of  the  night,  and 
retiring  to  his  room,  he  endeavour- 
ed, over  this  comfortable  mixture,  to 
chase  away  the  features  of  his  bro- 
ther that  still  haunted  him.     A  few 
copious  draughts  and  the  fatigue  of 
the  journey  quickly  brought  on   a 
drowsiness,  of  which  he  determined 
to  take  instant  advantage,  and  throw- 
ing  himself  on  the   bed,   soon   fell 
asleep.     The  recollection  of  his  bro- 
ther's face  occasionally  interrupted 
his  repose,  but  notwithstanding  these 
transient  frights,  he  enjoyed   a  fair 
night's  rest.     Mathieu,  on  alighting, 
had  established  a  tariff,  at  which  he 
was  to  be  victualled  and  boarded  at 
two  francs  -per  diem,  excluding  wine, 
which  he  stated  not  to  agree  with 
him;  but  congratulated  the  landlady 
on  the  bibacious  qualities  of  his  bro- 
ther, whom  she  might  charge  a  dis- 
cretion.    Upon  the  strength  of  this 
agreement,  he  sat  down  to  an  excel- 
lent supper,  accompanied  merely  by 
a  glass  of  the  pure  element,  enhanc- 
ed it  is  true  by  the  last  lump  of  su- 
gar from  his  pocket,  but  which,  from 
having  been  for  some  time  the  close 
companion  of  Madame  Martin's  to- 
bacco, gave  a  tinge  and  flavour  to 
the  eau  sucre  equal  in  his  opinion 
to    any  fleur   a" orange   de    Paris. 
From    repletion    and   fatigue,    Ma- 
thieu was  unable  to  sleep,  and  wor- 
ried his  imagination  throughout  the 
night  in  calculations  of  the  probable 
amount  of  the  moiety  of  his  deceas- 
ed brother's  property,  and  the  me- 
thod of  employing  it  to  the  greatest 
advantage. 

A  French  breakfast,  consisting  of 
cotelettes  a  la  Maintenon,  poulet 
roti,  &c.  brought  our  brothers  to- 
gether next  morning  in  the  salon. 
Hyacinthe,  with  an  imagination  still 
heated  by  the  events  of  the  preced- 


TUG   THREE    BROTHER®. 


ing  day,  had  recourse  to  another 
bottle,  which  drew  forth  with  the 
cork  sundry  growlings  from  Mathieu 
on  the  folly  of  swallowing  an  inherit- 
ance before  he  bad  touched  it,  es- 
pecially with  a  family  looking  up  to 
him  for  support.  "  Oh!  as  for  that," 
retorted  his  brother,  "  ma  chere 
tpouse  knows  how  to  take  care  of 
herself,  and  the  sign  of  St.  Anthony 
at  Nantes  will  give  her  and  her  light 
infantry  a  better  bottle  than  my 
whole  inheritance  could  purchase  in 
this  miserable  hole.  AUons,  a  sa 
sante,  but  not  in  water,  so  pray  emp- 
ty your  glass,  and  let  me  fill  it." 
Mathieu,  professing  an  extreme  re- 
spect for  madame  sa  belle-sceur,  over- 
came his  prejudice,  and  swallowed 
a  large  goblet,  in  the  hope  more  of 
benefiting  his  own  health  than  that 
of  his  sister-in-law. 

The  entrance  of  M.  de  Vallery 
at  this  moment  gave  another  turn 
to  the  conversation,  and  after  the 
customary  civilities,  Hyacinthe,  with 
a  faltering  and  hesitating  tone,  in- 
quired whether  the  death  of  his  bro- 
ther was  beyond  doubt,  as  he  felt 
almost  convinced  he  had  seen  his 
face  the  preceding  evening.  M.  de 
Vallery,  after  some  moments'  agi- 
tation, excused  himself  from  repeat- 
ing what  could  only  tend  to  afflict 
them,  but  promised  to  introduce  to 
them  in  the  course  of  the  day  a  lit- 
tle girl,  whom  their  brother  Adolphe 
had  adopted,  and  who,  from  having 
been  an  eyewitness  of  her  guardian's 
misfortune,  would  give  them  every 
particular.  "  Has  he  left  her  any 
thing?"  exclaimed  Mathieu  eager- 
ly.— "  Unfortunately  not,  and  she  is 
thrown,  gentlemen,  on  your  genero- 
sity."— "  Humph!"  grunted  Ma- 
thieu.— "  Pauvre  petite /"  exclaimed 
Hyacinthe. — i:  She  has  been,"  con- 


tinued M.  de  V.  "  since  her  arrival 
at  my  house,  where  she  can  remain 
till  you  have  made  some  provision 
for  her."  — "  Oh!  yes,"  replied  Ma- 
thieu, "  we  will  get  her  into  some 
charitable  institution  for  orphans." — ■ 
"  Not  while  I  have  a  Hard  to  sup- 
port her!"  vociferated  the  Avine-mer- 
chant. — "A  la  bonne  heure  !  you  have 
a  large  family,  and  her  expense  will 
be  scarcely  felt." — "  Mi  lie  canons f 
retorted  the  other,  "  what's  the  use 
of  money  to  you?  Every  body  might 
starve  for  it,  as  you  nearly  starve 
yourself.  I  know  I  have  six  chil- 
dren— but  yet  I  shall  be  able  to  ful- 
fil my  brother's  intentions  without 
the  assistance  of  suph  a  blanc-bec? 
Their  correspondent,  fearing  the  dis- 
pute might  increase,  here  interposed, 
and  informed  them  that  as  he  had 
been  called  away  to  a  neighbouring 
seaport,  he  was  not  prepared  to  settle 
their  affairs  that  morning;  and  there- 
fore as  he  was  under  the  necessity 
of  detaining  them,  and  as  a  mark  of 
respect  to  their  deceased  brother,  he 
begged  it  to  be  understood,  that  all 
expenses  at  the  inn  during  their  stay 
at  St.  Malo  were  at  his  charge. 
"  Du  tout!  da  tout!"1  exclaimed  Hy- 
acinthe ;  while  Mathieu,  seizing  his 
brother's  bottle,  begged  to  be  per- 
mitted to  offer  M.  de  Vallery  a  glass 
of  veritable  Bordeaux.  Mutual  ci- 
vilities ensued,  which  ended  in  the 
latter  entreating  them  to  make  them- 
selves comfortable  with  what  the 
house  could  afford,  and  he  apolo- 
gized for  withdrawing,  desirous  as 
he  felt  of  expediting  their  affairs. 
The  brothers,  now  left  to  themselves, 
felt  mutually  averse  to  each  other's 
society,  and  as  Mathieu  offered  to 
superintend  the  preparation  of  din- 
!  nor,  the  other  resolved  to  stroll  for 
|  an  hour  or  two  abaut  the  town. — A 


86 


THE   THREE    BROTHERS. 


promenade  in  St.  Malo! — in  a  town  J 
which  has  all  the  appearance  of  hav- 
ing  been  subject  to  the  operation  of] 
a  tourniquet,  and  squeezed  into  half 
its  original  size.  Bow-lane  would 
here  be  a  Rue-royale,  or  High-street, 
for  Rue-Napoleon  is  out  of  date, 
and  Salisbury-square  would  contain 
the  grande  and  only  place,  houses 
and  all.  Thus  condensed,  and  im- 
mured within  superb  stone  ramparts 
rising  to  the  second  floor,  some  idea 
may  be  formed  of  the  airiness  of  St. 
Malo.  Hyacinthe's  open  disposition 
could  not  find  breathing  room,  till 
he  sallied  forth  through  one  of  the 
gates,  where  the  harbour  lay  before 
him.  It  was  low  water,  and  with 
the  exception  of  an  occasional  stream 
emptying  itself  into  the  sea,  the  inlet 
presented  nothing  but  a  sandy  plain, 
some  miles  in  circumference,  with  a 
few  stranded  boats,  by  way  of  inter- 
est. Small  wooden  posts  and  a  few 
planks  over  the  little  currents  indi- 
cated several  routes  for  pedestrians, 
and  groups  of  smiling  faces  in  holi- 
day clothes  were  hastening  towards 
the  opposite  bank.  'Twas  a,  jour  de 
ftte,  and  the  lower  classes  of  St. 
Malo  were  hurrying  to  enjoy  it  at 
St.  Josef,  a  hamlet  consisting  of  but 
a  few  houses  and  as  many  cabarets, 
about  two  miles  distant.  Allonsvoir! 
said  Hyacinthe  to  himself,  and  cross- 
ing the  Greve,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  casting  his  eyes  towards  the 
spot  where  the  visionary  form  of  his 
brother  had  the  evening  before  ap- 
peared to  him.  The  place  was  now 
perfectly  dry,  except  in  the  deepest 
part,  where  one  of  the  rivulets  above- 
mentioned  was  winding  its  course 
towards  the  sea.  He  remained  con- 
templating the  scene  for  some  mi- 
nutes, till  the  tittle-tattle  of  an  ap- 
proaching party  of  females  broke  in 


upon  his  musings,  and  summoned 
him  to  pursue  his  way.  After  pass- 
ing a  cluster  of  farm-houses  on  the 
opposite  bank,  a  neat  and  straight 
road  presented  itself,  ornamented  on 
one  side  by  a  broad  and  well-kept 
footpath,  shaded  by  two  rows  of 
dwarf  trees,  and  crossed  at  intervals 
by  barriers,  to  prevent  the  incursions 
of  quadrupeds ;  the  whole  having 
more  the  air  of  a  private  road  lead- 
ing to  a  gentleman's  mansion,  than  a 
public  thorough  tare  to  a  few  huts. 
Parties  of  gaily  dressed  girls  gave 
an  animation  to  the  scene,  and  our 
friend  soon  felt  his  spirits  in  a  fair 
way  of  amelioration.  The  walk  con- 
tinued in  the  same  uniformity  of  plain 
and  direction  for  upwards  of  a  mile, 
before  Hyacinthe  perceived  Madame 
Martin  and  a  numerous  societe  a  few 
yards  in  advance.  "  I  only  wanted 
company!"  he  exclaimed,  " par  bon- 
heur  here  I  find  it;"  and  forthwith 
hastened  to  introduce  himself,  and 
to  pay  his  respects.  His  surprise 
can  hardly  be  described  when,  instead 
of  the  frieridly  greeting  which  he 
anticipated,  he  was  assailed  by  a  vol- 
ley of  imprecations,  in  which  the 
terms  cspion,  mouchard,  blanc-bcc, 
&c.  were  sung  by  the  females  in  a 
dozen  different  keys;  and  his  "  Com- 
ment, madame?"  was  answered  by 
the  male  portion  of  the  party  push- 
ing him  from  the  path  into  a  small 
fosse  dug  on  the  side.  "  Ah!  par- 
bleu!"  cried  our  sapeur,  on  regaining 
the  road,  "  si  cest  voire  jeu,  a  la 
bonne  lieureT  and  seizing  the  two 
nearest  by  the  collar,  he  laid  them 
sprawling  in  the  middle  of  the  road 
at  some  feet  distance.  The  affair 
now  became  general,  and  Hyacinthe 
with  military  tact  took  up  his  position 
against  a  hedge,  which  protected  him 
from  any  attack  in  the  rear.  "  Down 


WILLIAM    COMBK,    ESQ. 


87 


with  the  spyl"  was  the  war-whoop; 
and  the  cavaliers  commenced  an  as- 
sault with  sticks,  while  mesdames 
supported  them  by  a  discharge  of 
flying  artillery  in  the  shape  of  large 
pebbles,  against  which  his  straw  hat 
and  cotton  dress  afforded  little  or  no 
protection.  In  all  probability  he 
would  not  have  lived  to  tell  his  tale, 
had  not  the  whole  party,  as  if  by 
magic,  relinquished  hostilities,  and 
left  him  a  moment's  pause  to  look 
for  the  inconceivable  cause  of  this 
suspension  of  arms.  Scarcely  had 
he  turned  his  eyes,  when  the  figure 


of  his  deceased  brother  once  more 
stood  before  him.  This  time,  how- 
ever, he  was  spared  a  repetition  of 
the  agonizing  and  conflicting  feelings 
of  the  preceding  day:  for  as  it  often 
happens  in  modern  warfare,  that  an 
accidental  shot,  after  the  termination 
of  an  engagement,  has  done  the  great- 
est mischief  to  the  cause  by  depriv- 
ing the  army  of  a  principal  officer; 
so  in  the  present  instance  a  solitary 
stone  struck  Hyacinthe  on  the  tem- 
ple, and  laid  him  senseless  on  the 
road. 

(To  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 


WILLIAM  COMBE,  Esq. 


In  deviating  from  our  ordinary 
practice,  by  announcing  the  decease 
of  this  gentleman,  and  introducing  a 
few  particulars  concerning  him,  we 
are  actuated  by  respect  for  an  old  co- 
adjutor, and  by  the  desire  to  do  him 
that  justice  which,  while  living,  he 
never  could  be  persuaded  to  claim 
for  himself. 

Mr.  Combb  was  educated  at  Eton 
and  Oxford,  and  commenced  life 
with  the  fairest  prospects.  He  pos- 
sessed some  fortune,  a  graceful  per- 
son, elegant  manners,  a  taste  for  li- 
terature, and  an  extensive  acquaint- 
ance. The  former  was  soon  dissi- 
pated among  the  high  connections  to 
which  his  academical  career  intro- 
duced him,  not  in  gaming  or  any  po- 
sitive vice,  but  by  the  ambition  to  make 
an  appearance  to  which  his  means 
were  inadequate.  Thus  his  horses, 
his  equipage,  and  his  establishment  in 
general,  were  allowed  to  surpass  in 
beauty  and  elegance  those  of  the 
most  dashing  leaders  of  fashion  of 
the  da^v.  A  history  of  the  extraor- 
dinary vicissitudes  to  which  the  de- 
Vol.  II  No.  VIII 


struction  of  his  fortune  reduced  him, 
would  almost  wear  the  air  of  a  ro- 
mance. They  seem  to  have  been 
borne  by  him  with  philosophic  forti- 
tude, and  to  have  enlarged  that  know- 
ledge of  life  and  manners,  which  he 
afterwards  turned  to  such  good  ac- 
count in  his  numerous  productions, 
when  he  resorted  to  literature  for 
support. 

As  he  never  affixed  his  name  to 
any  of  his  performances,  it  would  be 
difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  enu- 
merate all  the  works  which  proceed- 
ed from  his  pen.  Though  mild  and 
unresenting  in  his  nature,  and  habi- 
tually sparing  of  censure,  one  of  his 
first  productions  was  a  satirical  po- 
em, entitled  the  Diaboliad,  which  ex- 
cited great  attention  in  the  fashion- 
able world,  as  the  hero  of  it  was  ge- 
nerally understood  to  be  a  nobleman 
lately  deceased.  We  are  assured 
that  in  his  last  days  the  author  de- 
clared that  this  was  the  only  one  of 
his  works  which  he  regretted  having 
written. 

The  first  publication  which  he  pri- 
N 


88 


WILLI  AM    COMBE,    ESQ. 


vately  acknowledged  to  be  his,  was  a 
series  of  detached  essays,  with  the  title 
of  The  Philosopher  in  Bristol,  print- 
ed in  that  city  in  1 775.  He  was  the 
author  of  the  letters  which  appeared 
under  the  title  of  Letters  of  the  late 
Lord  Littleton,  which,  by  an  assum- 
ed similarity  of  style  to  that  of  the 
deceased  nobleman  (the  second  of 
the  name),  and  the  mention  of  some 
trifling  incidents,  known  as  it  was 
supposed  only  in  the  family,  are  said 
to  have  deceived  Mr.  Windham,  one 
of  the  most  acute  judges,  and  Lady 
Littleton,  the  nearest  friend  of  his 
lordship,  into  a  belief  that  they  were 
really  written  by  him.  The  Deed 
tipon  Two  Sticks  in  England  was  ex- 
tremely popular  in  its  day,  and  still 
retains  a  reasonable  degree  of  cele- 
brity, from  the  delineation  of  charac- 
ter and  the  display  of  anecdote,  when 
those  of  whom  it  treats  are  no  more. 
But  the  work  by  which  Mr.  Combe 
will  be  chiefly  remembered,  is  the 
Tour  of  Dr.  Syntax  in  Search  of 
Hie  Picturesque,  to  which  he  added 
a  "  Second  and  a  Third  Tour."  The 
spurious  breed  to  which  this  perform- 
ance gave  birth,  attest  the  great  po- 
pularity and  fame  of  the  original, 
which  displays  such  readiness  of  ver- 
sification, such  pliability  of  intellect, 
and  such  an  amiable  playfulness  of 
mind,  combined  with  knowledge  of 
the  little  scenes  of  domestic  life,  as 
are  rarely  to  be  found  in  any  indivi- 
dual at  the  advanced  age  at  which  it 
was  produced.  These  volumes  were 
followed  by  the  English  Dance  of 
Death,  the  Dance  of  Life,  and  the 
History  of  Johnny  Qua'  Genus,  the 
little  Foundling  of  the  late  Dr.  Syn- 
tax; all  which,  like  the  Tours  of 
Syntax,  were  illustrated  by  prints 
after  designs  from  the  humorous  pen- 


cil of  Rowlandson,  and  published 
by  Mr.  Ackermann. 

For  the  same  publisher  he  wrote 
the  Llistory  of  Westminster  Abbey ; 
,the  Llistory  of  the  University  of 
Cambridge ;  that  part  of  the  Histo- 
ry of  the  Public  Schools  containing 
Westminster,  St.  Paul's,  Charter- 
House,  Merchant  Tailors',  Rugby, 
and  Christ's  Hospital;  the  third  vo- 
lume of  the  Microcosm  of  London-, 
and  a  Llistory  of  Madeira. 

To  the  Rej)ository  he  was  a  con- 
tributor nearly  from  its  commence- 
ment, and  the  series  of  papers  under 
the  title  of  Amelia's  Letters,  the 
Modern  Spectator,  and  the  Female 
Tattler,  proceeded  from  his  prolific 
pen.  Respecting  these  papers,  an 
ingenious  contemporary,  whose  judg- 
ment is  unquestionable,  has  observed, 
that  "  a  very  interesting  and  valuable 
selection  might  be  made  from  them, 
as  they  were  invariably  written  in 
support  of  the  interests  of  virtue  and 
the  inculcation  of  moral  dispositions." 

Mr.  Combe  is  known  to  have  been 
the  author  of  many  political  pam- 
phlets, some  of  which  made  a  consi- 
derable impression  at  the  time  of  their 
appearance ;  and  the  works  of  taste 
and  science  which  were  submitted  to 
his  revision,  but  of  which  others  had 
the  reputation,  were  exceedingly  nu- 
merous. 

Notwithstanding  this  literary  in- 
dustry, in  which  he  was  enabled  to 
persevere  till  very  shortly  before  his 
death,  he  needed  the  hand  of  friend- 
ship to  smooth  the  declining  scene, 
while  nature  was  sinking  by  a  gradu- 
al but  rapid  decay,  till  he  expired  at 
his  apartments  in  the  Lambeth-road, 
on  the  19th  of  June,  at  the  advanced 
age  of  eighty-two  years. 

In  the  course  of  this  protracted 


SUNDAY    IN    BIUSTOL. 


m 


life,  Mr.  Combo  had  become  known  to 
so  many  persons  in  every  rank  of  so- 
ciety, that  there  was  scarcely  any  in- 
dividual of  note  in  his  time  with  whose 
history  he  was  not  in  some  degree 
acquainted.  His  conversation  was 
always  entertaining,  and  so  multifa- 
rious were  his  acquirements,  that  up- 
on every  branch  of  art — we  might  al- 
most say,  on  every  department  of 
science — he  could  expatiate  in  an  in- 
structive and  interesting  manner.  He 
was  remarkably  abstemious,  drinking 
nothing  but  water  till  the  last  few 
weeks  of  his  life,  when  wine  was  re- 
commended to  him  as  a  tonic;  but 
though  a  mere  water-drinker,  his  spi- 
rits at  the  social  board  always  fully 
kept  pace  with  those  of  the  rest  of 
the  company.  The  life  of  Mr.  Combe, 
if  impartially  written,  would  be  preg- 
nant with  amusement  and  instruction: 
he  frequently  intimated  his  intention 
of  leaving  his  memoirs  behind  him, 
but  nothing  of  the  kind  has  been 
found  among  his  papers,  and  those 
who  might  have  furnished  the  most 
useful  materials  are  probably  almost 
all  with  him  in  the  grave. 

We  ought  not  to  conclude  this 
brief  notice,  without  bearing  testimo- 
ny to  the  firm  reliance  placed  by  the 
subject  of  it  in  the  divine  origin  of 
the  Christian  religion,  and  in  a  future 
existence ;  and  to  the  fortitude  and 
resignation  with  which  during  his 
last  illness  he  supported  his  convic- 
tion of  the  near  approach  of  his  dis- 
solution. That  these  serious  impres- 
sions were  of  early  growth  in  his 
mind,  we  are  authorized  to  believe 
from  many  passages  in  his  works, 
and  in  confirmation  of  this  opinion, 
we  subjoin  an  article  extracted  from 
one  of  the  first,  if  not  the  very  first, 
of  his  printed  productions,  The  Phi- 
losopher hi  Bristol,  which  has  been 


mentioned  above,  and  which  is  now 
so  extremely  scarce,  that  it  is  hardly 
to  be  procured  at  any  price.  The 
article  in  question  is  as  follows: 

SUNDAY. 

As  a  philosopher  and  a  friend  to 
good  order  in  all  government,  I  must 
without  doubt  be  highly  satisfied 
when  I  see  in  any  country  a  due  and 
proper  attention  to  the  exercise  of 
that  religion  which  is  established  by 
the  laws  of  it.  But  as  I  am  a  Chris- 
tian, and  well  convinced  that  the 
worship  of  Christians  is  exercised  in 
Great  Britain  with  more  purity  than 
in  any  other  country,  I  am  more  par- 
ticularly pleased  when  its  ordinances 
are  observed  with  a  due  regard  and 
respectful  attention. 

It  is  therefore  witli  the  greatest 
pleasure  I  have  remarked  in  the  many 
places  of  worship  I  have  attended  in 
this  city,  that  the  congregations  have 
been  always  numerous,  and  often 
crowded ;  and  that  a  decency  of  ber 
haviour  has  uniformly  prevailed,  tp 
their  honour  and  my  infinite  satisfac- 
tion. For  I  agree  with  Mr.  Addison, 
that  it  is  both  pleasant  and  improv- 
ing to  behold  in  a  large  city  num- 
bers of  people  on  a  Sunday  dressed 
in  their  best  clothes,  and  with  cheer- 
ful countenances  going  to  and  return- 
ing from  their  respective  places  of 
public  devotion:  but  the  spectacle 
surely  is  infinitely  heightened,  when 
we  see  them  engaged  in  it. 

And  here  I  am  naturally  led  to 
mention  another  observation  which  I 
have  frequently  made  in  favour  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Bristol,  which  is,  that 
when  I  have  had  occasion  to  pass 
through  the  streets  of  this  city  at  a 
late  hour  of  the  night — for  a  philo- 
sopher does  not  confine  his  reflec- 
tions to  the  day — I  never  recollect  to 
N  2 


90 


SUNDAY    IN    BRISTOL. 


have  been  disturbed  by  any  noise  or 
riot ;  and  that  the  bacchanalian  re- 
vels of  midnight  hours,  which  are  so 
common  in  all  other  places,  seem  to 
be  unknown  in  this  peaceful  city. 

I  have  also  observed  an  urbanity 
and  good-humour  in  the  inferior  or- 
der of  its  inhabitants,  which  justice 
obliges  me  to  acknowledge;  and  I 
will  give  a  very  striking  example  of 
it :  As  I  was  sauntering  along  a  nar- 
row street  near  St.  James's  church- 
yard, a  man  of  mean  appearance  in- 
quired of  me  the  way  to  the  Broad 
Quay,  and  while  I  was  endeavouring 
to  give  him  my  imperfect  directions, 
a  cobbler,  who  was  sitting  in  an  ad- 
joining stall,  laid  down  his  last,  and 
told  the  man  he  would  point  it  out 
to  him ;  and  accordingly,  having 
walked  with  him  to  the  end  of  the 
street,  he  directed  him  on  his  way, 
and  returned  hastily  to  his  work. 

I  never  was  witness  to  an  action  of 
more  civility  in  my  life.  It  was  mere 
civility;  for  the  man  who  inquired 
his  way  had  not  the  least  appearance 
of  being  able  to  bestow  a  gratuity 
for  the  information,  nor  did  the  cob- 
bler require  one ;  for,  having  given 
the  necessary  directions,  he  returned 
hastily  to  his  stall  and  renewed  his 
work,  as  if  he  knew  the  value  of  his 
time  too  well  to  loiter  any  part  of  it 
away,  and  yet  did  not  grudge  a  small 
portion  of  it  to  do  a  fellow-creature 
a  service.  A  philosopher  is  seldom 
rich:  it  was  not,  therefore,  in  my 
power  to  reward  this  good  man  as  I 
wished;  but  I  did  my  best,  for  as  a 
philosopher  sometimes  wants  shoes, 
I  ordered  him  to  make  me  a  couple 
of  pair,  and  told  him  my  reason  for 
it. 

This  civil  and  proper  demeanour 

not  only  confers  honour  on  the  lower 

lass  of  people  at  Bristol,  but  it  also 


proves  the  attentive  and  correct  con* 
duct  of  the  clergy,  the  vigilance  of 
the  magistracy,  the  grave  deportment 
of  the  eminent  and  the  wealthy,  and 
the  industry  of  all:  for  wherever 
idleness  prevails,  there  rudeness  and 
riot  and  crimes  will  predominate. 
"  The  devil,"  says  the  Spanish  pro- 
verb, "  tempts  all  men,  but  the  idle 
man  alone  tempts  the  devil."  When, 
therefore,  all  ranks  of  men  unite,  ac- 
cording to  their  respective  charac- 
ters, in  the  due  exercise  of  their  ta- 
lents and  a  diligent  pursuit  of  their 
various  avocations,  a  love  of  order 
will  necessarily  arise  in  such  a  com- 
munity, and  actuate  every  part  of  it. 

I  cannot  but  think  that  the  hap- 
piness of  this  world  and  the  next  are 
nearly  connected  together,  and  that 
religion  conducts  to  them  both.  Much, 
therefore,  depends  upon  that  order 
of  men  who  are  appointed  to  teach 
its  duties,  to  explain  its  doctrines, 
and  to  prove  its  excellence  and  its 
efficacy  by  their  own  example.  And 
though,  in  the  performance  of  these 
sacred  offices,  a  great  deal  rests  upon 
them,  something  also  depends  upon 
us  in  our  regard  and  attention  to  it. 

The  character  itself  is  sacred,  and 
therefore  highly  respectable,  and 
cannot  be  intrinsically  disgraced  by 
the  inattention  or  crime  of  the  per- 
son who  professes  it.  Now  there  is 
not  any  thing  that  tends  more  to  les- 
sen a  respect  for  religion  in  ourselves, 
and  to  check  the  good  effects  of  it  in 
our  inferiors,  than  by  discovering  an 
open  disregard  of  those  who  are  ap- 
pointed to  teach  the  duties  of  it. 

Whenever  I  hear  any  one  condemn 
the  whole  body  of  the  clergy,  as  it 
were,  in  a  breath,  because  there  may 
have  been  many  of  that  order  who 
have  been  a  dishonour  to  it,  I  im- 
mediately take  the  opposite  side  of 


SUNDAY    IN    BRISTOL. 


91 


the  question,  and  give  them  as  uni- 
versal applause ;  because  from  among 
them  a  long  catalogue  of  illustrious 
men  might  be  produced,  who  have 
been  truly  eminent  for  steady  virtue, 
shining  talents,  consummate  learning, 
and  unfeigned  piety.  We  may  both 
of  us  be  in  an  error ;  but  if  ever  I  am 
compelled  to  erect  myself  into  a  judge 
of  my  fellow-mortals,  I  will  endeavour 
to  exercise  the  more  amiable  part  of 
my  jurisdiction,  and  frame  my  de- 
crees, not  with  harshness  and  rigour, 
but  with  lenity  and  benevolence. 

Shallow-sighted  men,  who  love  to 
cavil  at  what  they  do  not  understand, 
and  have  no  other  foundation  for 
their  shadowy  fabric  of  knowledge 
than  the  ignorance  of  men  more  igno- 
rant than  themselves — these  gentry, 
not  having  acquired  a  sufficient  de- 
gree of  discernment  to  distinguish 
between  the  abuses  of  things  and  the 
things  themselves,  presume  to  call  re- 
ligion to  their  tribunal;  and  having 
been  told  that  it  has  been  applied  to 
bad  purposes,  without  knowing  or 
considering  that  its  misapplication 
was  the  work  of  bad  men,  they  pass 
their  sentence  of  condemnation  upon 
it;  and  having  just  sense  enough  to 
discover  that  all  the  clergy  are  not 
angels,  they  triumphantly  pronounce 
the  whole  race  of  them  to  be  devils. 

Alas!  my  good  friends,  whoever 
you  may  be,  let  me  ask  you  one  se- 
rious question.  If  mankind  were  to 
judge  of  the  human  understanding 
by  the  use  which  you  make  of  yours, 
what  would  they  think  of  it  ? 

I  really  respect  the  character  of  a 
clergyman ;  and  even  when  I  see  any 
one  who  appears  to  be  careless  about 
supporting  it  with  proper  dignity, 
still  I  respect  the  character,  though  I 
pity  the  man.  On  such  an  occasion 
I  always  feel  the  same  kind  of  senti- 


ment as  takes  possession  of  my  mind 
when  I  see  a  church  made  subservient 
to  the  common  uses  of  life,  and  no 
longer  sacred  to  the  sublime  offices 
of  piety  and  devotion. 

Whenever  we  attend  divine  service 
where  it  happens  to  be  performed 
with  coldness  and  neglect,  the  disre- 
spect which  the  clergyman  discovers 
towards  his  duty,  should  never  be  en- 
couraged by  any  concomitant  inat- 
tention in  us ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
we  should  endeavour,  by  every  pos- 
sible precaution,  to  hinder  others 
from  noticing  it,  by  not  appearing  to 
take  the  least  public  notice  of  it  our- 
selves. To  hide  the  defects  of  others 
is  ever  amiable ;  but  in  this  instance 
it  would  be  universally  beneficial. 

I  happened  a  few  Sundays  ago  to 
meet  Amanda,  who  had  just  been  at 
church ;  and  returning  with  her,  the 
public  disapprobation  which  some 
people  discover  when  they  are  dis- 
pleased with  the  manner  in  which 
the  clergyman  performs  his  duty  be- 
came the  subject  of  our  conversation. 
I  shall  not  presume  to  repeat  my  ob- 
servations when  I  am  so  fortunate  as 
to  recollect  what  Amanda  said  upon 
it,  who,  whenever  I  have  heard  her 
converse,  always  says  the  very  thing 
she  ought. 

"  I  make  it  arule,"  said  she,  "  how- 
ever my  ear  may  be  hurt  by  the  dis- 
cordant manner  in  which  a  clergy- 
man may  read  the  liturgy,  or  my 
judgment  be  offended  by  the  subject 
of  his  discourse,  or  the  manner  of 
his  treating  it,  and  my  honour  for  re- 
ligion be  wounded  by  his  inattention 
to  the  duties  of  his  sacred  office,  to 
keep  these  effects  to  myself.  In  the 
latter  instance,  indeed,"  added  she, 
"  I  am  afraid  the  most  benevolent 
mind  cannot  attempt  even  a  justifica- 
tion ;  but  surely  in  the  two  form?}  , 


02 


Till::    TWIN    StSTEllS. 


something,  nay  much,  may  be  said  hi 
their  behalf.     We  should  consider, 
that  many  gentlemen  are  I  may  say 
forced,  as  it  were,  into  the  profession 
against  their  own  inclinations;  some 
are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to   it 
from  necessity ;  and  all  are  too  gene- 
rally taught,  from  their  earliest  des- 
tination to  it,  to  look  towards  its  emo- 
luments instead  of  its  duties.     The 
study  of  theology,  even  from  the  im- 
perfect notions  a  woman  can  form  of 
it,  seems  to  require  great  attention  in 
the  pursuit,  and  much  time  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  it.     To  be   eloquent  is 
not  in  the  power  of  many,  and  where 
men  possess  the  necessary  powers,  a 
long  and  painful  perseverance    can 
alone  bring  them  to  any  great  degree 
of  perfection.    Besides,  a  man  whose  I 
business  it  is  to  discover  the  secret  j 
sources  of  human  actions,  to  convince  ■ 
the  judgment,  to  awaken  the  pas-  ; 
sions,  to  confirm  the  doubting,  to  en-  J 
courage  the  diffident,  and  to  check 
the  presumptuous,  should  be  well  ac-  j 
quainted  with  the  human  heart.  And, 
notwithstanding  the  importance  and 
difficulty  of  this  profession,  I  have 
been  told,  that  in  four  years'  occa- 
sional attendance  upon  the  university, 
and  after  an  examination  of  as  many 


minute.-*,  a  young  man  of  thro.'  and 
twenty  years  of  age  is  admitted  into 
holy  orders;  and  by  entering  upon 
the  evangelical  function,  takes  upon 
him  the  charge  of  preaching  the  gos- 
pel, explaining  its  truths,  and  enforc- 
ing the  practice  of  them;  of  resolv- 
ing the  doubts  of  the  ingenious  scep- 
tic, and  defending  it  against  th<>  at- 
tacks of  the  veteran  infidel.  So  that,"' 
she  was  pleased  to  add, "  the  outcry  of 
general  insufficiency,  if  it  should  be 
true,  which,  however,  I  do  notbelieve, 
does  not  so  immediately  arise  from 
themselves,  as  from  the  inattention 
of  the  superior  powers  to  a  due  and 
wise  regulation  of  their  sacred  or- 
der." 

I  was  charmed  with  Amanda,  and 
cannot  but  think  what  a  disgrace  it 
is  to  the  young  men  of  this  age,  that 
she  should  not  be  doing  that  honour 
to  a  married  life  which  she  confers  up- 
on the  virgin  state.  But  whenever 
that  event  approaches,  I  shall  consi- 
der the  clergy  as  the  most  ungrate- 
ful beings  in  the  world,  if,  after  this 
admirable  defence  of  their  profes- 
sion, there  is  not  an  anxious  contest 
among  them,  who  shall  enjoy  the  ho- 
nour of  bestowing  upon  her  the  nup- 
tial benediction. 


THE 


The  lovely  twin  sisters,  Maria  and 
Francisca,  were  the  joy  and  delight 
of  their  parents,  who  were  of  a  re- 
spectable family  in  the  middling  rank 
of  life.  The  graces,  the  talents,  the 
accomplishments  of  mind  and  per- 
son, and  the  unequalled  goodness  of 
heart,  which  distinguished  these  ami- 
able girls,  seemed  to  render  the  lot 
of  their  parents  truly  enviable ;  but 
an  extraordinary  fatality  that  appear* 


TWIN    SISTERS: 

A  Tale  of  Real  Life. 

ed  to  attend  both,  but  too  soon  con- 
verted their  happiness  into  inexpres- 
sible misery. 

The  only  difference  observable  in 
the  character  of  the  sisters  was,  that 
the  susceptible  Maria  was  more  dis- 
posed to  melancholy,  while  the  live- 
ly Francisca  was  all  spirits  and  gaie- 
ty. The  vivacity  of  the  latter  seem- 
ed insensibly  to  bias  the  hearts  of 
iier  parents  in  her  favour \  it  was  as 


Tills    TWIN    SISTERS. 


93 


though  her  disposition  held  forth  to 
them  prospects  of  brighter  happiness 
than  her  sister's;  and  the  unfortu- 
nate Maria  was  too  early  destined 
to  verify  their  gloomy  forebodings. 
The  parents,  who  were  what  are 
commonly  called  good  sort  of  peo- 
ple, and  fond  of  company,  had  not 
watched  the  first  dawning  of  the  pas- 
sions and  ideas  in  the  minds  of  their 
children  with  that  fond  anxiety  by 
which  many  a  dangerous  preponder- 
ance might  probably  have  been  pre- 
vented; they  carefully  avoided  every 
thing  that  tended  to  disturb  the 
even  tenor  of  their  lives;  and  hence 
it  was  natural  that  they  should  be 
better  pleased  with  the  merry  Fran- 
cisca  than  with  her  reserved  sister. 
Hence  Maria,  thrown  back  still  more 
upon  herself,  had  but  too  much  oc- 
casion to  indulge  a  propensity  to  re- 
verie, which  often  bordered  upon 
melancholy. 

With  feelings  naturally  quick  and 
profound,  she  combined  in  her  affec- 
tions all  the  ardour  and  energy  of 
the  warmer  climates;  and  these  af- 
fections fell  unfortunately  on  an  ob- 
ject, which,  though  from  intrinsic  me- 
rit not  unworthy  of  her,  was  yet  great- 
ly her  inferior  according  to  the  es- 
tablished notions  of  civilized  society. 

It  was  a  young  private  soldier  be- 
longing to  one  of  the  fine  Hungarian 
regiments,  for  whom  she  conceived 
an  attachment.  In  the  features  of 
his  handsome  face  was  strikingly  ex- 
pressed a  goodness  of  heart  thatcoin- 
cided  with  her  own.  Mindful  of  his 
inferior  station,  he  would  not  have 
ventured  to  raise  his  eyes  to  a  female 
so  far  above  him;  while  she,  on  the 
other  hand,  seemed  to  be  attached 
to  him  by  a  magic  spell ;  and  even 
when  she  beheld  him  at  such  times 
when  he  was  not  on  duty,  stripped 


of  bis  military  accoutrements,  and 
working  as  a  ship-carpenter,  his  man- 
ly form,  embrowned  by  toil  in  the 
heat  of  the  sun,  only  made  a  still 
deeper  impression  upon  her. 

She  saw  him  frequently,  for  the 
Danube  ran  close  under  herwindows. 
Her  attention,  and  the  expression  of 
peculiar  kindness  and  affection  which, 
unknown  to  herself,  beamed  from  her 
countenance,  could  not  fail  at  length 
to  attract  the  notice  of  the  modest 
soldier.  He  too  now  ventured  to  fix 
his  eyes  upon  hers,  which  were  ri- 
veted with  such  intense  interest  up- 
on him;  and  where  is  the  man  whose 
heart,  how  unassuming  soever,  would 
not  have  been  encouraged  by  such 
a  discovery?  He  was  struck  with  her 
loveliness,  and  thoughts  and  feelings 
began  to  arise  within  him,  which  fill- 
ed even  his  own  mind  with  amazement 
and  dismay. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  contriv- 
ed Opportunities  of  conversing  to- 
gether again  and  again;  and  Maria 
found  that  her  beloved  Joseph  pos- 
sessed a  tender  heart,  generous  sen- 
timents, and  good  natural,  though 
uncultivated,  abilities.  All  this  served 
to  raise  her  fondness  for  him  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  enthusiasm:  she  re- 
solved to  be  his,  or  never  to  give  her 
hand  to  any  man;  while  he  was  toss- 
ed about  on  an  ocean  of  dreams  of 
a  happiness  which  he  could  not  have 
anticipated,  and  of  wishes  which  he 
durst  scarcely  own  to  himself.  She 
needed  nothing  but  the  consent  of 
her  parents  to  be  supremely  happy: 
she  threw  herself  at  their  feet,  con- 
fessed her  passion,  and  implored  their 
pardon  and  their  blessing. 

They,  however,  viewed  the  con- 
nection in  a  very  different  light  from 
that  in  which  the  young  enthusiast 
beheld  it.     They  had  placed  upoa 


94 


THTJ    TWIN    SISTKIIS. 


the  settlement  of  their  daughters  all 
the  hope  of  their  latter  years ;  and 
pale  with  horror,  they  looked  aghast 
at  each  other,  and  then  burst  forth 
into  impassioned  lamentations  on  the 
anguish  which  they  were  doomed  to 
experience  from  the  misconduct  of 
their  child. 

This  was  a  thunderbolt  to  the  ten- 
der heart  of  the  susceptible  Maria. 
During  her  whole  life,  it  had  been 
her  chief  study  to  give  pleasure  to 
her  parents,  and  now  she  was  all  at 
once  doomed  to  hear  that  she  ren- 
dered them  miserable.  In  the  in- 
toxication of  her  unhappy  passion,  it 
had  never  occurred  to  her,  that  she 
should  grieve  them  by  this  roman- 
tic attachment;  and  Francisca,  who 
might  perhaps  at  first  have  given  it  a 
different  direction,  as  the  two  sisters 
placed  unbounded  confidence  in  each 
other,  happened  just  at  this  time  to 
be  absent  from  home. 

Love  had  meanwhile  gained  such 
an  ascendancy  in  her  heart,  that  it 
could  not  have  sacrificed  that  senti- 
timent  at  the  shrine  of  filial  duty 
without  breaking.  From  the  resist- 
ance which  it  encountered,  her  pas- 
sion now  assumed  a  more  heroic  cha- 
racter; and  instead  of  the  hope  which 
she  had  hitherto  obscurely  indulged 
of  raising  her  lowly  lover  by  the  aid 
of  her  parents  to  a  better  lot,  she  now 
felt  sufficient  courage  to  descend  her- 
self to  his  level.  With  a  flood  of 
tears  she  merely  besought  her  pa- 
rents not  to  deny  her  their  blessing. 
She  declared  that  she  wished  not  for 
the  smallest  portion  of  their  proper- 
ty; that  she  would  gladly  share  the 
hard  lot  of  her  lover,  and  submit 
to  the  severest  labour,  if  she  could 
but  enjoy  the  happiness  of  being  the 
wife  of  the  man  to  whom  she  was  at- 
tached with  inexpressible  fervour:  for 


she  well  knew  that  his  honest  heart 
had  not  conceived  any  idea  of  deriv- 
ing advantage  from  her  fortune. 

Her  parents,  who  were  only  the 
more  incensed  to  see  their  daugh- 
ter so  debase  herself,  made  her  feel 
the  full  weight  of  their  indignation. 
They  called  her  passion  mean  and 
disreputable,  and  even  banished  her 
for  a  time  from  their  presence. 

This  was  too  much  for  the  tender 
heart  of  Maria,  whom  they  left  in 
a  state  more  resembling  death  than 
life.  Their  anger  oppressed  her  with 
almost  annihilating  force,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  disdain  with  which  they 
quitted  her  gave  her  a  dreadful  fore- 
taste of  the  universal  contempt  which 
would  be  her  future  portion.  On 
the  other  hand,  her  love  only  acquir- 
ed new  energy,  as  she  turned  to  the 
image  of  her  poor  lover  whom  she 
alone  had  first  disturbed  in  his  inno- 
cent tranquillity. 

Such  were  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings that  now  distracted  her ;  no  sym- 
pathizing soul  was  near  her ;  for  even 
the  servants,  dreading  the  tempest 
that  raged  in  the  minds  of  her  parents, 
ventured  not  to  approach  the  unhap- 
py exile.  She  durst  not  go  in  quest 
of  her  lover,  nor  indeed  did  she  know 
where  to  find  him,  as  his  military  du- 
ty had  that  day  summoned  him  to  a 
distant  post.  She  was,  besides,  for- 
bidden to  stir  out.  Towards  even- 
ing she  went  into  the  garden  by  the 
side  of  the  house,  with  a  basket  on 
her  arm,  in  which  she  was  accustom- 
ed at  that  hour  to  collect  fruit  and 
vegetables  for  the  next  day's  dinner. 

She  pursued  unconsciously  her 
wonted  way;  but  this  time  she  left 
the  herbs,  fruit,  and  flowers  unmolest- 
ed, and  strolled  to  the  lower  end  of 
the  garden,  which  sloped  to  the  Da- 
nube.    Here  she  stood  with  her  eyes 


THE    TWIN    SISTERS. 


9o 


fixed  intently  on  the  river,  which 
whirled  along  in  wild  eddies  at  her 
feet. 

The  flowers  which  she  was  used 
to  tend  exhaled  their  most  fragrant 
odours,  and  waved  their  many-co- 
loured heads,  as  if  to  detain  her  in 
the  scene  of  beauty;  the  blooming 
shrubs  clung  to  her  garment,  and 
wound  themselves  about  her  feet  to 
hold  her  back,  butinvain:  her  broken 
heart,  her  spirit  oppressed  with  gloom, 
longed  for  rest,  and  the  impetuous 
waves  hurried  her  away  in  their  cold 
yielding  bosom. 

As  she  did  not  return,  and  one  of 
the  maid-servants  declared  that  she 
had  seen  her  going  down  towards 
the  river,  her  offended  parents  be- 
came uneasy,  and  began  to  dread  the 
consecpicnces  of  her  despair.  Search 
and  inquiries  were  instantly  made, 
and  it  was  not  till  a  late  hour  that 
some  fishermen,  about  three  miles 
down  the  river,  perceived  by  the  last 
faint  gleam  of  twilight  her  white  gar- 
ment, which  had  been  caught  and 
held  fast  by  the  bushes  that  over- 
hung the  margin  of  the  stream. 

All  the  efforts  that  were  employ- 
ed to  restore  animation  proved  inef- 
fectual; life  had  fled  for  ever  from 
her  gentle  bosom.  Poor  Joseph, 
the  innocent  and  unfortunate  cause 
of  her  sufferings,  heard  the  melan- 
choly tidings  on  his  return  from  du- 
ty, and  he  proved  that  Maria  was 
not  deceived  in  her  opinion  of  him. 
Regardless  of  every  thing  around 
him,  he  seemed  to  be  wholly  absorb- 
ed in  grief  for  her  who  had  devoted 
herself  to  him  with  such  ardent  af- 
fection. During  the  night  his  com- 
rades heard  a  report  of  fire-arms  in 
the  barracks,  and  he  was  found  on 
the  floor  with  his  brains  blown  out. 
Vol.  II.  No.  VIII. 


His  remains  were  interred  beside 
those  of  his  Maria  in  a  sequestered 
spot  on  the  bank  of  the  river. 

The  grief  into  which  this  catas- 
trophe plunged  Maria's  parents  and 
her  affectionate  sister  estranged  them 
for  a  long  time  from  every  pleasure. 
All  the  hopes  of  the  former  were 
now  fixed  exclusively  on  Francisca — 
on  her  whom  their  secret  partiality 
had  ever  preferred  to  the  unfortu- 
nate Maria;  and  Francisca,  rich  in 
charms  of  mind  and  person,  seemed 
fully  to  justify  those  hopes. 

Her  choice  fell  upon  a  youth  wlio 
was  in  every  respect  her  equal  in 
rank  and  fortune.  Not  only  her  pa- 
rents, but  every  body  else  admitted 
that  there  could  not  be  a  more  suita- 
ble match;  though  the  former  felt  a 
certain  secret  dislike  to  the  man  to 
whom  their  most  precious  jewel,  their 
only  beloved  daughter,  was  to  be 
consigned.  But  having  had  reason 
to  repent  most  bitterly  their  too  great 
harshness  towards  one  of  their  chil- 
dren, they  thought  to  make  amends 
for  it  by  so  much  the  more  indul- 
gence towards  the  other.  Francisca 
passionately  loved  the  man  of  her 
choice:  they  strove  therefore  to  sup- 
press their  dark  presentiments,  and 
gave  their  consent  to  a  match  which 
was  to  confer  happiness  on  the  lov- 
ers, and  the  consummation  of  which 
depended  only  on  some  family  ar- 
rangements. 

They  knew  not  exactly  themselves 
what  it  was  that  occasioned  their  dis- 
like to  Vincent:  he  was  accomplish- 
ed in  mind,  person,  and  manners; 
but  his  features  wore  an  expression 
of  selfishness,  rather  than  goodness 
of  heart.  Excessive  indulgence  had 
probably  spoiled  his  disposition  at 
an   early   age.     The   only   child  of 

O 


96 


THE    TWIN    SISTERS. 


wealthy  parents,  he  was  accustomed 
to  consider  himself  as  the  centre  of 
all  the  wishes  and  all  the  efforts  of 
those  about  him;  and  thus  all  his 
caprices  and  passions  were  gratified 
without  the  slightest  opposition. — 
Whatever  he  took  into  his  head, 
that  he  would  have  done,  no  matter 
how  much  others  might  suffer  by  it, 
so  it  spared  him  the  mortification  of 
the  slightest  self-denial. 

The  gentle  and  lively  Francisca 
thought  it  no  hardship  to  give  way 
to  all  his  humours,  as  she  was  ac- 
customed to  regard  every  thing  in 
life  on  the  favourable  side ;  and  in 
this  respect  also  the  match  was  con- 
sidered as  well  assorted.  But  this 
very  vivacity  of  the  innocent  girl 
rendered  her  liable  to  incur  the  dis- 
pleasure of  her  lover,  before  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  the  kind  had 
entered  her  thoughts. 

She  had  never  remarked  jealousy 
in  him,  nor  did  she  imagine  that  he 
could  ever  harbour  that  passion ;  he 
knew  that  he  was  the  idol  of  her 
soul,  and  the  consciousness  of  her 
own  purity  rendered  her  the  less 
scrupulous  about  appearances.  Vin- 
cent had  left  home  for  a  few  days, 
and  during  his  absence  a  young  and 
handsome  stranger  called,  on  his  ar- 
rival in  the  capital,  with  letters  of 
recommendation  to  Francisca's  pa- 
rents. They  were  pleased  with  their 
visitor,  and  neither  they  nor  their 
daughter  deemed  it  at  all  indecorous 
to  take  many  a  little  excursion  with 
him  into  the  adjacent  country  in  his 
elegant  carriage,  or  to  accompany 
him  to  the  play.  The  presence  of 
her  parents  on  all  these  occasions 
seemed  to  secure  the  young  lady 
from  all  imputation. 

One  evening  Francisca  and  her 
mother  were  alone  in  a  box  at  the 


theatre  with  the  interesting  stranger. 
The  latter  knew  and  respected  the 
footing  on  which  she  stood  in  regard 
to  Vincent;  but,  as  a  man  of  the 
world,  he  thought  there  was  no 
harm  in  testifying  the  interest  ex- 
cited in  him  by  the  amiable  girl,  with 
whom,  but  for  that  prior  connection, 
he  might  have  wished  to  be  more  in- 
timately acquainted.  He  was  stand- 
ing behind  her  chair,  deeply  engaged 
in  conversation  with  her,  while  her 
mother  was  similarly  employed  with 
an  actpiaintance  in  the  next  box, 
when  Vincent,  who  had  returned  be- 
fore he  was  expected,  entered  the 
pit. 

His  ardent  looks  were  soon  fixed 
on  the  box  which  contained  his  bride. 
An  officious  tell-tale  had  already  in- 
formed him  of  Francisca's  excursions 
with  the  wealthy  baron,  and  not  only 
his  affection  but  also  his  self-love  was 
severely  wounded  by  the  intelligence. 
He  now  beheld  her  engaged  between 
the  acts  in  familiar  conversation  with 
him;  the  glass  which  he  employed 
seemed  to  him  too  dull  to  follow  each 
of  their  looks.  His  blood  boiled, 
and  he  could  scarcely  await  the  con- 
clusion of  the  piece. 

The  curtain  at  length  fell,  and 
Francisca,  holding  the  left  arm  of  the 
baron,  who  had  given  his  right  to 
her  mother,  was  proceeding  to  the 
carriage,  which  was  in  waiting  for 
them.  ■''  Ha  ',  faithless  wretch !"  all 
at  once  cried  a  well-known,  dear,  but 
now  terrific  voice,  and  before  Fran- 
cisca could  distinguish  Vincent  rush- 
ing through  the  crowd,  the  two-edged 
stiletto,  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
carry  in  his  cane,  pierced  her  left 
side  just  below  the  heart. 

With  a  shriek  of  pain  and  horror 
she  sunk  into  the  arms  of  her  trem- 
bling mother.     The  assassin  was  se- 


TUB    TWIN    SISTERS. 


97 


cured.  The  insensible  Francisca  was 
carried  home  and  put  to  bed;  the 
wound  on  examination  was  found  to 
be  deep,  but  not  mortal. 

She  complained  not  of  the  pain 
she  suffered ;  the  only  concern  she 
felt  was  for  Vincent's  fate.  When- 
ever she  thought  of  it  she  dissolved 
into  tears,  and  reproached  herself  in 
the  severest  manner,  because  she  had, 
though  innocently,  given  him  occa- 
sion for  committing  the  outrage.  She 
was  incessantly  engaged  in  devising 
the  means  of  alleviating  his  situation : 
she  expended  all  her  little  savings  on 
delicacies  and  refreshments  which 
she  sent  to  him  in  prison;  and  as 
soon  as  she  was  able  to  go  abroad, 
she  ceased  not  her  entreaties  till  she 
obtained  permission  to  visit  him  there. 

On  entering  the  gloomy  well-se- 
cured cell  in  which  he  had  hitherto 
passed  his  joyless  days,  her  whole 
soul  flew  to  meet  him ;  but  though 
lie  was  thoroughly  convinced  that 
her  heart  had  not  harboured  even  a 
shadow  of  infidelity,  still  his  wound- 
ed self-love  could  not  pardon  her  for 
having  given  the  slightest  appearance 
of  it  to  the  world ;  nay,  all  the  af- 
fecting proofs  of  her  affection  la- 
vished on  him  during  the  whole  of 
his  imprisonment,  drew  from  him 
but  faint  thanks  and  superficial  ex- 
cuses for  his  crime. 

"  But  how  was  it" — asked  one  of 
the  officers  of  justice,  who  had  pro- 
cured Francisca  and  her  mother  ad- 
mission to  the  prisoner — "  how  Mas 
it  that  you  turned  the  murderous 
weapon  against  your  mistress,  and 
not  against  him  whom  you  supposed 
to  be  favoured  by  her?  for  Nature 
herself  has  implanted  in  the  charac- 
ter of  man  such  a  respect  for  the 
weaker  sex,  that  he   never  attacks 


the  woman  whom  he  regards  as  faith- 
less, but  only  his  rival." 

"  And  how" — cried  Vincent  with 
a  satanic  grin — "  how  if,  while  we 
sacrifice  one  another,  the  faithless 
woman  should  forget  both  me  and 
my  victim,  and  become  the  wife  of  a 
third? — No,  no;  the  trusty  dagger 
planted  in  the  bosom  of  the  false 
one  guarantees  me  against  that,  and 
assures  me  that  no  other  shall  pos- 
sess her  if  I  cannot." 

While  he  uttered  these  words, 
Francisca  felt  as  though  the  dagger 
was  piercing  her  heart.  The  deli- 
beration evinced  by  his  cruel  and  un- 
generous sentiment  filled  her  with 
horror,  and  in  spite  of  herself,  trans- 
formed her  ardent  attachment  into 
alienation  and  even  abhorrence. 

Through  the  influence  of  his  fa- 
mily he  obtained  his  liberty.  Love 
had  for  ever  fled  from  the  heart  of 
Francisca,  but  neither  had  it  hence- 
forward any  place  for  joy;  a  slow 
consuming  melancholy  had  succeed- 
ed her  former  gaiety.  Her  parents 
beheld  with  anguish  their  darling 
drooping  to  the  grave;  and  they 
could  not  find  fault  with  her  for  sted- 
fastly  rejecting  all  Vincent's  over- 
tures for  renewing  their  former  con- 
nection. 

Their  melancholy  thoughts  now 
turned  more  frequently  to  the  unfor- 
tunate Maria,  and  to  her  choice, 
which  they  had  so  rigidly  condemn- 
ed, and  which  they  now  contrasted 
with  that  of  their  Francisca.  Their 
deceased  daughter  reposed  by  the 
side  of  a  poor  but  a  virtuous  lover, 
who — they  now  admitted,  not  with- 
out painful  remorse — might  by  their 
means  have  been  raised  to  a  higher 
station,  and  who  had  offered  all  that 
lie  possessed — his  life— a  humble, 
O  2 


THE   TWIN"  SISTER^. 


disinterested  sacrifice  to  his  love. 
Their  living  child  had  chosen  a  mon- 
ster, who,  how  assiduously  soever 
she  might  avoid  him,  had  destroyed 
her  peace  of  mind  for  ever. 

About  this  time  a  young  cousin, 
named  Celestine,  who  had  long  lived 
abroad,  returned  to  his  native  city. 
He  appeared  like  a  messenger  from 
heaven  to  the  sorrowing  parents. 
Francisca  and  he  had  in  their  child- 
hood always  manifested  extraordi- 
nary fondness  for  each  other,  and 
they  hoped  that  he  might  perhaps 
dispose  her  heart  to  a  new  and  hap- 
pier attachment. 

Celestine,  naturally  of  a  gentle, 
affectionate  disposition,  was  exactly 
adapted  to  the  tender  office.  It  was 
with  the  utmost  delicacy  that  he  ap- 
proached her  wounded  heart;  and 
though  that  heart,  owing  to  the  pain- 
ful mistake  into  which  it  had  already 
fallen,  withstood  every  new  impres- 
sion with  extraordinary  persever- 
ance, yet  it  was  soothed  by  the  so- 
ciety of  the  sympathizing  friend  of 
her  youth.  She  regarded  him  as  a 
dear  brother  from  whom  she  had 
long  been  separated,  and  began  by 
degrees  to  find  some  relief  in  the 
communication  of  her  feelings  and 
ideas. 

Francisca  had  always  taken  parti- 
cular delight  in  the  beauties  of  na- 
ture: Celestine  was  now  the  compa- 
nion of  her  solitary  walks ;  and  her 
parents  knew  that  she  was  safe  un- 
der his  protection.  One  day  she 
conducted  him  to  her  sister's  grave. 
She,  as  well  as  her  parents,  had,  since 
her  own  misfortune,  thought  more 
frequently  of  the  hapless  Maria;  and 
she  reproached  herself  with  having 
thought  so  little  of  her  beloved  sis- 
ter during  the  happy  days  of  her 
own  passion. 


Vincent,  whose  pride  was  hurt  by 
the  infatuation  of  the  sister  of  his 
bride,  had  found  means,  if  not  to 
wean  her  insensibly  from  the  remem- 
brance of  Maria,  at  least  to  keep  her 
from  visiting  her  grave;  Celestine, 
on  the  contrary,  willingly  attended 
her  thither. 

"  Poor  Maria!"  sighed  she,  on 
reaching  the  solitary  spot.  It  was  a 
small  grove  of  alders,  at  the  en- 
trance of  which,  a  single  weeping- 
willow,  close  to  the  margin  of  the 
Danube,  overhung  the  turf  which 
covered  the  lovers  who  had  fallen  in 
the  struggle  with  their  unhappy  fate. 
In  vain  had  Maria's  parents  endea- 
voured to  procure  for  their  lost 
daughter  a  place  in  consecrated 
ground,  such  was  the  rigour  of  the 
ecclesiastical  and  civil  laws  of  the 
town ;  and  it  was  only  the  urgent  so- 
licitations of  Francisca  that  obtained 
for  the  faithful  Joseph  a  grave  by 
her  side,  "  Poor  Maria  l"  sighed 
Francisca,  as  they  reached  the  two 
hillocks,  at  the  foot  of  which  rolled 
the  dark  waves  of  the  Danube — 
"  how  solitary,  how  neglected  is  thy 
grave!  Not  a  stone  or  any  friendly 
mark  points  out  where  thou  reposest. 
Is  this  all  the  reward  for  thy  faithful 
attachment  VT 

"  My  dear  Francisca  !'r  cried  Ce- 
lestine, affectionately  grasping  her 
hand,  "  give  not  yourself  up  thus, 
I  entreat  you,  to  the  controul  of  me- 
lancholy !" 

"  O  Celestine!"  rejoined  Francis- 
ca, with  impassioned  warmth,  "  this 
spot  will  be  ever  dear  to  me ;  ever 

will  my  love " 

"  Thy  love!  Ha!  traitress! " 

Such  were  the  words  that  all  at  once 
resounded  in  Vincent's  terrific  voice. 
Like  an  evil  spirit  he  had  watched 
all  Francisca's  motions,  and  at  this 


GENERAL    MARTIN  S    HOUSE    AT    LUCKNOW. 


90 


moment  rushed  from  the  thicket  be- 
hind Celestine.  He  had  not  heard 
Celestine's  gentle  supplication ;  he 
saw  only  his  tender  look  and  atti- 
tude, and  heard  only  the  commence- 
ment of  her  reply,  which  alluded,  as 
he  imagined,  to    a  passion  for  her 


cousin.  He  ran  up,  and  before  they 
had  time  to  turn  round,  his  dagger, 
pointed  this  time  with  greater  pre- 
cision, had  penetrated  the  heart  of 
Francisca,  who,. streaming  with  blood, 
sunk  expiring  on  the  grave  of  her 
lamented  sister. 


GENERAL    MARTIN'S    HOUSE    AT    LUCKNOW. 

Extract  of  a  Letter  from  an  Officer  in  the  B-cngul  Establishment. 


I  recollect  having  given  you 
in  a  former  letter  an  account  of 
various  ingenious  contrivances  of 
Colonel  Martin  to  reduce  a  concre- 
tion in  the  bladder;  and  when  at 
Lucknow,  I  procured  a  description 
of  the  spacious  building  erected  by 
that  eccentric  man  upon  the  banks  of 
the  river  Goomtee.  It  was  construct- 
ed for  the  express  purpose  of  pro- 
curing an  equal  temperature  in  his 
residence  at  all  seasons.  It  consists 
entirely  of  stone,  except  the  doors 
and  window-frames;  the  ceilings  of 
the  different  apartments  being  form- 
ed of  elliptic  arches,  and  the  floors 
of  stucco.  The  basement  story  com- 
prises two  caves  or  recesses  within 
the  banks  of  the  river,  and  level  with 
its  surface  when  at  its  lowest  decrease. 
In  these  caves  he  passed  the  hot  sea- 
son, until  the  rainy  weather  caused  a 
swell  of  the  waters.  He  then  as- 
cended to  another  story,  fitted  up  in 
the  style  of  a  grotto ;  and  when  a  fur- 
ther rise  of  the  river  brought  its  sur- 
face to  a  level  with  his  changing 
abode,  he  removed  up  to  the  third 


story,  or  ground-floor.  On  the  next 
story  above  that,  a  handsome  saloon, 
raised  on  arcades  projecting  over  the 
Goomtee,  was  his  spring  and  winter 
habitation.  In  the  other  story,  he 
had  a  museum  furnished  with  vari- 
ous curiosities ;  and  over  the  whole 
was  erected  an  observatory,  with  the 
best  astronomical  instruments.  Be- 
sides his  house  at  Lucknow,  he  had 
a  beautiful  villa,  whither  he  occa- 
sionally retired  during  the  hot  season. 
In  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  he  laid 
out  a  large  sum  of  money  on  the 
architecture  of  a  Gothic  castle,  which 
he  did  not  live  to  finish.  He  died  at 
an  advanced  age,  leaving  property  to- 
the  amount  of  thirty -three  lacs  of 
rupees,  or  three  hundred  and  thirty 
thousand  pounds  sterling.  Within 
the  Gothic  castle  he  built  a  splendid 
mausoleum,  and  on  a  marble  tablet 
over  his  tomb  is  the  following  inscrip- 
tion, written  by  himself  a  few  months 
previous  to  his  decease: 
"  Here  lies  Claude  Martin,  born  at  Lyons, 
A.  D.  1732. 
He  came  to  India  as  a  private  soldier,, 
And  died  a  nuij.or-general." 


THE  FAIR  INCOGNITA. 

Every  circumstance  in  this  little 
story,  however  romantic,  is  strictly 
true;  and  perhaps  some  aged  ladies 
of  high  rank  may  recollect  hearing 


from  their  mothers  how  severely  the 

Duchess  of  H experienced  the 

contrast  of  splendid  elevation  in  the 
eye  of  the  world,  and  the  domestic 


100 


THE    FAIR    INCOGNITA. 


grievances  occasioned  by  a  libertine 
husband :  yet  the  duke  had  a  reck- 
less generosity  and  good- naturewhich 
saved  his  consort  from  direct  unkind- 
ness ;  and  she  endeavoured  by  every 
duteous,  faithful  attention  and  for- 
bearance to  reclaim  him  from  the 
haunts  of  ebriety  and  gross  licen- 
tiousness. 

Her  grace  had  an  attendant  from 
her  own  country,  who  enjoyed  and 

deserved  her  confidence.  Mrs.  S 

was  several  times  employed  by  her, 
under  various  disguises,  to  bring 
changes  of  linen  to  the  duke;  a  com- 
fort of  which  he  was  deprived  by  a 
negligent  worthless  valet.  One  night 
after  the  duchess  had  gone  to  bed, 

Mrs.  S informed  her,   that  the 

duke  was  confined  to  bed  in  a  house 
pf  questionable  repute  within  the 
purlieus  of  Covent  -  Garden.  Her 
grace  proposed  rising  immediately 
and  going  to  see  her  unhappy  lord; 
but  Mrs.  S ■  said  she  Avould  ex- 
pose herself  to  inevitable  insult  at 
such  a  place  and  at  so  late  an  hour — 
in  the  morning  she  might  venture 
thither  with  safety. 

After  a  sleepless  night,  the  duchess 
rang  her  bell  very  early,  too  early 

for  the  purposed  visit.     Mrs.  S 

prevailed  with  her  to  take  a  cup  of 
coffee,  and  to  delay  sending  for  a 
hackney-coach  till  near  ten  o'clock. 
In  plain  attire,  masked,  and  wrapped 
in  long  cloaks,  with  hoods  closely 
drawn  over  their  faces,  the  duchess 
and  Mrs.  S —  stepped  into  the  carri- 
age, provided  with  linen,  bed-clothes, 
cordials,  and  food  for  the* invalid. 
The  ruling  passion  prevails  even  in 
sickness.  The  duke  supposed  him- 
self the  object  of  illicit  tenderness, 
and  submitted  to  every  dictate  of  the 
unknown,  whose  personal  elegance 


assured  him  she  was  of  no  mean  con- 
dition. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  servant  of  the 

Marquis  of  L accidentally  heard 

that  the  Duke  of  II lay  danger- 
ously ill,  and  that  a  masked  lady 
brought  a  physician,  and  furnished 

every  necessary  for  him.  Lord  L 

feared  his  countryman  was  the  prey 
of  some  artful  Cyprian,  who  might 
plunge  him  in  debts  to  a  large  amount. 
He  called  upon  him,  and  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  remove  from  a  place 
so  discreditable;  but  the  duke  said 
he  would  not  for  worlds  desert  the 
most  graceful  and  disinterested  of 
female  friends.  Partly  through  a 
vain  display  of  his  influence  over  the 

fair  sex,  the  duke  asked  Lord  L 

to  come  before  ten  next  morning,  and 
concealing  himself  behind  the  cur- 
tains, he  should  behold  an  angelic 
being  ministering  to  him  in  the  hum- 

blest  offices  of  affection.  Lord  L 

saw  a  figure  of  the  most  captivating 
elegance  approach  the  bed  of  suffer- 
ing. She  spoke  not  a  word,  but  a 
robust  masculine  person,  also  masked, 
acted  as  the  interpreter  of  her  coun- 
sels. The  lady  stooped  over  the 
duke  to  change  his  linen  and  wrap- 
ping-gown, while  her  companion  pre- 
pared an  easy  chair  and  stirred  the 
fire,  previous  to  raising  the  duke  to 

adjust  his  bed.     Lord  L cut  the 

strings  of  the  lady's  mask,  and  at 
once  recognised  the  Duchess  of  II— , 
who,  with  a  blush  of  surprise,  raised 
herself  from  the  bending  attitude,  of 
which  his  lordship  had  taken  advan- 
tage. 

The  Duke  of  H did  not  long 

survive,  and  Lord  L ,  when  de- 
corum permitted,  offered  his  heart 
and  hand  to  the  beautiful  widow,  of 
whose  conjugal  virtues  he  had  proofs 


BEHAVIOUR. 


101 


so  remarkable.  The  Marquis  of 
L was  not  less  amiable  in  pri- 
vate life,  than  honoured  and  revered 


in  his  public  character,  and  his  con- 
sort, who  became  the  mother  of  three 
dukes,  was  the  happiest  of  wives. 


BEHAVIOUR. 

II  donne  de  la  vogue  au  sage, 
Quelquefois  de  Pespritaux  sots, 
Lc  bonhcur  aux  amants,  la  victoire  aux  heros. 

Rulhiere. 


Let  us  be  born  when  or  where  we 
may,  there  is  no  living  without  be- 
haviour, which  is  our  earliest  lesson 
and  our  latest  business.  Taking  the 
word  in  its  fullest  comprehension,  it 
includes  a  theory  and  a  practice  for 
all  times  and  places,  all  ranks  and 
conditions  of  men.  Much,  it  is  true, 
must  be  left  to  etiquette  in  the  for- 
malities of  nations,  and  more  must 
be  conceded  to  localities ;  but  whe- 
ther a  salutation  consist  in  kissing 
the  hem  of  a  vest,  in  pulling  off 
slippers,  in  the  contact  of  noses,  or 
in  a  shake  of  the  hand,  the  welcome 
must  depend  upon  the  feeling  which 
shines  through  the  ceremony,  and  in 
the  real  good  offices  which  result 
from  it.  The  differences  of  behavi- 
our are  as  numerous  as  the  differ- 
ences of  men,  which,  God  wot,  are 
plentiful  enough.    "  For  a  taste — " 

Handsome  behaviour  may  be 
shewn  on  so  many  occasions,  that  to 
enter  into  its  particulars,  would  be 
to  enumerate  all  the  honourable 
transactions  in  which  it  is  possible  to 
be  engaged.  To  be  brief  then,  I 
like  your  handsome-behaved  people 
so  well,  that,  "  as  the  saying  is,"  with 
Old  Will  Boniface  in  the Beaux  Stra- 
tagem, "  I  wish  we  had  as  many 
more  of  'em.  They  pay  well,  and 
give  no  trouble."  I  am,  however,  dis- 
posed to  quit  this  topic  as  speedily 
as  possible,  for  fear  of  betraying  a 
few  antiquated  prejudices ;  for  that 
behaviour  which,  but  the  other  day, 


and  in  good  society,  I  heard  charac- 
terized as  handsome,  appears  to  me 
deserving  of  the  contrary  epithet. 
The  word  was,  as  I  humbly  conceive, 
misapplied  to  the  freaks  of  a  young 
fellow,  who,  as  Tom  or  Jerry,  very 
frequently  sallies  forth  in  company 
with  a  troop  of  choice  spirits  for  a 
little  midnight  diversion,  disturbing 
whole  neighbourhoods  by  yells  and 
uproar,  besetting  all  who  have  the 
misfortune  to  walk  the  street  which 
they  infest,  threatening  some,  knock- 
ing down  others,  breaking  lamps, 
windows,  and  every  breakable*  thing 
within  then-  reach,  not  excepting  the 
reverend  heads  of  the  inoffensive 
watch,  and  crowning  their  impudence 
with  outrageous  insults  on  the  brief 
authority  of  the  night-constable,  to 
whose  guardianship  they  are  sure  to 
be  sooner  or  later  committed.  After 
being  locked  up  for  a  few  hours  in 
the  dark,  their  valour  subsides,  they 
"  don't  feel  quite  so  bold,  somehow, 
as  they  did;"  but  yielding  at  discre- 
tion, they  compound  for  broken  lan- 
terns, contribute  something  towards 
plasters  for  broken  heads,  which  do 
not  look  quite  so  hideous  by  day  as 
by  lamp-light,  repair  the  broken  dig- 
nity of  the  representative  of  majesty 
by  the  timely  payment  of  a  reason- 

*  Though  this  word  is  not  much  used, 
it  is  in  this  place  much  more  precise  than 
hrittle  or  fragile :  perhaps  the  Editor  will 
for  once  permit  precision  to  triumph  over 
propriety. 


102 


BEHAVIOUR. 


able  tribute,  and  then,  "  with  fainting 
steps  and  slow,"  come  fresh  from  or- 
deal and  durance,  with  the  title  of 
handsome-behaved  gentlemen,  a  lit- 
tle wildish  or  so  perhaps,  but  still  ve- 
ry handsome. 

Strange  behaviour  may  be  easily 
conceived,  courteous  reader,  if  you 
have  ever  gone  to  congratulate  an 
old  chum  on  his  sudden  promotion, 
and  after   as  warm    a  reception  as 
over,  have  been  told  that  company, 
which,  though  not  half  so  congenial 
as  the  society  of  old  friends,  must  still 
be  attended  to,  being  every  moment 
expected,  it  would  be  better  for  you 
to  come  some  other  day,  when  he 
should  be  able  to  enjoy  you  more  to 
himself;  he  will  fix  the  day,  and  write 
to  you  in  the  course  of  the  week. 
But  after  the  lapse  of  months  no  in- 
vitation arrives,  and  at  last  you  see 
the  great  man  arm  in  arm  with   his 
patron  in  the  Mall,  when,  notwith- 
standing the  intensity  of  their  con- 
versation, he  does  you  the  honour 
to  touch  his  hat,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  who  meets   somebody  that  he 
thinks  he  has  seen  somewhere  once 
before,  though  for  the  life  of  him  he 
can't  tell  who  it  is.     "  'Tis  somewhat 
strange,"  when  a  young  lady,  after 
listening  for  months   to  tender  ex- 
pressions,    and     taking     moonlight 
walks,  and  receiving  very  graciously 
a  few  elegant  bagatelles,  and  disco- 
vering a  wonderful  similarity  and  sym- 
pathy of  sentiment  between  herself 
and  any  blind  admirer,  is  struck  with 
amazement  on  his  putting  "  the  ques- 
tion," to  find  that  he  had  entertained 
any  other  than  a  platonic  object,  and 
that  he  had  never  heard  of  her  be- 
ing betrothed  to  her  cousin,  the  lieu- 
tenant, whose  absence  at  the  North 
Pole,  or  at  Timbuetoo,  is  the  only 
obstacle  to  their  union. 


I  call  it  shabby  behaviour  to  take 
a  poor  rustic  from  the  LaiuVs-End, 
equip  him  as  a  valet,  set  out  with 
him   on  your   travels,    and   finding, 
when  you  reach  Paris,  how  inexpert 
he  is  compared  with  the  natives,  to 
set  him  adrift  in  the  rue  des  Fosses, 
or  any  other  out-of-the-way  place, 
whence,   without   a   single  word  of 
French  to  his  tongue,  or  a  single  sous 
in  his  pocket,  he   is   never  likely  to 
emerge.     For  any  one  who  makes  an 
appearance,  on  being  invited  to  spend 
the  evening  with  a  dowager,  who,  as 
all  the  world  knows,  thinks  no  even- 
ing can  be  spent  without  whist,  to  sit 
down  perfectly  agreeable  to  play,  and 
when  the  loss  of  the  rubber  stares 
him  full  in  the  face,  to  begin  rum- 
maging his  pockets,  and  then  to  tura 
up  his  eyes,  clasp  his  hands,  and  per- 
form all  the  tricks  of  affected  asto- 
nishment, at  not  finding  his   purse 
where  he  never  put  it,  but  suddenly 
to  recollect,  that  in  the  haste  in  which 
he  made  his  toilette,  he  forgot   to 
transfer  his  cash  from   his  undress 
waistcoat,  and  therefore  to  request, 
that  for  the  present  the  half-guinea 
may  be  considered  a  debt  of  honour. 
Not  a  whit  less  shabby  is  it  to  stop 
and  listen   to   the  performances  of 
those    foreign    musicians   who    sjng 
their  pennyworth  in  the  street,  and 
when  maclame  has  screamed  her  fi- 
nale,   and   presents   herself  with   a 
tambourine,  and  with  a  look  altoge- 
ther irresistible,for  that  reward  which, 
if  exertion  has  any  reference  to  de- 
sert, she  has  abundantly  earned,  to 
requite  her  with  a  bad  joke  in  coarse 
French,  and  then  to  turn  upon  the 
heel. 

Pretty  behaviour  is  the  unremit- 
ting study  of  the  obsequious,  of  such 
as  care  not  what  they  do  or  suffer, 
so  that   they  may  ingratiate  them- 


fo>:tiiill  abbey 


10.3 


selves  wherever  they  go.  For  this 
purpose  they  put  both  mind  and  bo- 
dy on  the  rack:  they  are  always  stu- 
dying to  throw  themselves  into  pretty 
attitudes,  and  to  say  pretty  things  : 
they  prepare  to  laugh  at  "  one  of  the 
drollest  things  in  the  world,"  before 
"  the  best  of  all"  is  fairly  perceptible : 
they  never  think  of  taking  a  chair 
till  every  one  else  is  seated,  though 
they  hold  it  lawful  to  scramble  with 
all  their  might  for  a  station  near  the 
bottom  of  the  table.  Your  pretty- 
behaved  people  would  sooner  eat 
their  mutton  cold,  than  omit  to  offer 
their  plate,  by  way  of  distinction  and 
preference,  all  round  the  table;  and, 
heroic  creatures!  they  hold  their  fin- 
gers as  cheap  as  Mutius  Scaevola's, 
while  holding  a  burning  plate  for  a 
supply  of  asparagus.  They  endure 
the  pinchings  and  hair-pullings  of 
spoiled  children  with  seeming  com- 
placency, though  the  bitter  tear  be 
ready  to  start  into  their  eye  and  pro- 
claim the  insincerity  of  their  dimpled 
cheek  and  simpering  mouth,  suffer- 
ing mean  time  the  dear  little  greasy 
or  sugared  hands  to  rove,  without  re- 
straint, over  the  bright  buttons  and 
velvet  collar  of  a  bran-new  coat. 
They  sit  patiently,  and  without  feign- 
ing to  beat  a  march  with  knife  and 
fork  upon  an  empty  plate,  while  a 
gluttonous  host,  lost  for  awhile  in  the 
ecstatic  enjoyment  of  his  own  good 
cheer,  forgets  that  he  invited  any 
one  to  partake  of  it.     They  can  lis- 


ten to  an  endless  story  without  yawn- 
ing or  fidgetting,  or  presuming  to 
rise  if  it  be  at  tea,  under  pretence  of 
handing,  to  be  replenished,  the  cup 
of  the  gossip,  which,  in  the  depth  of 
attention  to  the  narrative,  one  is  apt 
to  mistake  for  empty,  when  in  fact 
it  is  as  full  as  ever,  except  what  little 
may  have  been  jerked  over  by  the 
gesticulation  of  the  orator.  But  on 
this  head  I  can  cite  an  authority  at 
once  high  and  conclusive.  Of  the 
real  pretty  behaviour  we  may  judge 
from  the  ironical  application  of  the 
phrase  by  a  lady  of  Billingsgate  to  a 
gentleman  who  prides  himself  not 
a  little  on  his  prettiness  in  every 
respect.  lie  had  lately  returned 
from  Italy,  and  was  moving  down 
Thames-street  to  clear  some  knick- 
j  knacks,  when  he  Mas  so  ungallant  as 
to  take  the  wall  of  the  said  lady,  la- 
den, as  she  was,  with  a  basket  of  as 
fine  eels  as  ever  were  flayed  alive ; 
upon  which  she  exclaimed  with  be- 
coming indignation,  "  Here's  pratty 
behaviour,  to  take  the  wall  of  a  la- 
dy !  A  pratty  jontleman  too  you 
must  be,  so  you  must  sure,  to  trate 
the  fair  sex  in  that  way  !  If  I  could 
only  get  rid  of  this  basket,  I'd  soon 
tache  you  manners,  my  jewel!" — 
That  I  may  not  be  thought  to  stand 
in  need  of  a  lesson  upon  the  same 
subject,  I  shall  not  trespass  at 
greater  length  on  the  polite  pages  of 
the  Repository . 

0  <i>. 


FONTHILL    ABBEY. 

JVith  a  View  of  the  Pavilion. 


There  are  few  of  our  readers  who 
need  the  information  that  this  mag- 
nificent mansion,  a  fit  abode  for  roy- 
alty itself,  was  last  year  transferred 
Vol.  II.  No.  VIII. 


from  the  possession  of  its  creator, 
Mr.  Beckford,  into  that  of  Mr.  Far- 
quhar.  The  uncertainty  which  pre- 
vailed as  to  the  intentions  of  the  new 
P 


104 


FONTH1LL    ABBEY. 


proprietor  respecting  it  are  removed 
so  far  as  relates  to  the  present  year, 
and  its  gates  are  again  thrown  open 
to  the  lovers  of  the  magnificent  ei- 
ther in  nature  or  in  art.  Those  who 
were  not  able  to  reach  the  abbey  last 
season,  or  were  among  the  immense 
number  against  whom  the  barrier  was 
so  suddenly  closed,  will  now  enjoy  an 
opportunity  of  witnessing,  much  more 
at  their  ease,  the  sumptuous  and 
splendid  scenes  which  then  filled  the 
kingdom  with  astonishment. 

Had  no  improvement  been  made 
in  the  former  arrangements,  nor  any 
additional  suites  of  apartments  open- 
ed, still  there  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient to  realize  even  the  most  san- 
guine anticipations.  The  disappoint- 
ment which  visually  awaits  the  visitor 
of  a  scene,  on  the  splendour  or  beau- 
ty of  which  language  has  exhausted 
its  encomiums,  is  here  absolutely  un- 
known. Astonishment  and  admira- 
tion attend  his  every  step,  and  never 
quit  him  till  his  exit  from  a  place 
which  seems  to  realize  the  brilliant 
fictions  of  Oriental  fable. 

For  those  in  whom  this  fever  of 
surprise  has  subsided,  there  are  at- 
tractions in  addition  to  those  which 
were  exhibited  to  them  last  year,  and 
scarcely  less  interesting.  Mr.  Beck- 
ford's  private  suite  of  apartments  is 
now  accessible.  The  grand  drawing- 
room  and  some  other  apartments  are 
completed,  and  all  their  matchless 
furniture  displayed.  By  this  increase 
of  means,  the  paintings  which  could 
not  be  hung  last  year,  now  present  a 
most  exquisite  feast  to  the  amateur, 
and,  what  perhaps  is  beyond  all,  the 
library  is  no  longer  imprisoned:  the 
rods  of  brass  which  forbade  all  inti- 
macy beyond  the  backs  of  the  books 
are  now  removed,  and  every  volume 
solicits  examination.   The  extent  and 


valuable  contents  of  the  collection 
have  been  long  known,  but  this  is  the 
first  time  that  any  person,  excepting 
a  few  of  the  friends  of  the  late  pos- 
sessor, has  been  privileged  to  enjoy 
it. 

The  dressed  grounds  of  Fonthill 
are  now  in  their  greatest  beauty,  and 
the  simplicity  which  characterizes 
their  arrangement  forms  a  striking- 
contrast  to  the  elaborate  display  of 
art  which  is  every  where  evident  in 
the  Abbey :  perhaps  the  gorgeous 
profusion  of  flowers  with  which  the 
exotics  of  the  American  garden  bor- 
der every  path  may  strike,  at  first 
sight,  as  an  exception  to  this  remark, 
but  a  little  more  intimate  acquaint- 
ance with  the  scenery  banishes  all 
doubt  of  the  refined  taste  which  de- 
signed it.  In  the  more  distant  parts 
of  the  walks  and  rides,  every  variety 
of  landscape  may  be  met  with — the 
close  covert  and  the  champaign  coun- 
try, caverns  which  Salvator  Rosa 
would  have  exulted  to  people,  and 
distances  in  which  Claude  might  have 
luxuriated.  In  many  of  the  latter, 
the  stately  Abbey  is  a  principal  fea- 
ture, frequently 

"  Bosom'd  high  in  tufted  trees," 
but  generally  raising  its  majestic  tow- 
er far  above  all  competition. 

This  interesting  place  has  at  length 
received  the  attention  which  it  de- 
served, and  the  pen  and  the  graver 
are  employed  in  producing  a  com- 
plete and  faithful  description  and  re- 
presentation of  what  it  now  is,  in 
works  undertaken  by  Mr.  Britton  of 
London,  and  Mr.  Rutter  of  Shafts- 
bury,  as  announced  in  the  Literary 
Intelligence  of  our  Repository  for 
April  last,  pp.  245  and  6. 

It  may  perhaps  be  agreeable  to  our 
readers  to  know  that  the  riiost  per- 
fect arrangements  are  made  to  pre- 


ANECDOTES,    &C.  HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL. 


10.' 


vent  the  inconveniencies  experienced 
by  the  visitors  last  year.  The  cata- 
logues describe  the  position  of  every 
apartment,  article,  and  book,  so  that 
they  can  be  instantly  found.  The 
Fountain-Court  has  been  fitted  up  as 
an  elegant  refectory,  of  which  a  se- 
parate engraving  has  just  appeared, 
where  refreshments  of  the  most  simple 
or  of  the  most  luxurious  kind  may  be 
reasonably  purchased  at  all  times ; 
and  to  prevent  the  fatigue  of  a  con- 
siderable journey  every  night  and 
morning,  the  Pavilion,  a  view  of 
which  accompanies   this   article,   is 


fitted  up  with  beds,  and  the  greatest 
attention  has  been  paid  in  its  arrange- 
ment to  propriety  and  comfort.  Pub- 
lic breakfasts  are  given  here  every 
morning ;  and  with  such  heightened 
attractions,  and  such  accommoda- 
tions not  previously  provided,  it  is 
natural  to  anticipate  a  greater  influx 
of  visitors  than  at  the  former  exhi- 
bition, curious  to  obtain  a  sight  of 
the  glories  of  this  celebrated  place 
before  the  hammer  of  the  auctioneer, 
not  less  potent  than  the  wand  of  fairy 
enchantress,  bids  them  disappear  for 
ever.  ^» 


ANECDOTES,  &c. 
HISTORICAL,  LITERARY,  AND  PERSONAL. 

next   day  at   the   place 


CORONATION    ANECDOTE. 

At  the  coronation  of  King  Wil- 
liam and  Queen  Mary,  the  champion 
of  England,  dressed  in  armour  of 
complete  and  glittering  steel,  his 
horse  richly  caparisoned,  and  him- 
self and  beaver  finely  capped  with 
plumes  of  feathers,  entered  West- 
minster Hall  while  the  king  and 
queen  were  at  dinner ;  and  at  giving 
the  usual  challenge  to  any  one  that 
disputed  their  Majesties'  rights  to 
the  crown  of  England  (when  he  has 
the  honour  to  drink  the  sovereign's 
health  out  of  a  golden  cup,  always 
his  fee),  after  he  had  flung  down  the 
gauntlet  on  the  pavement,  an  old 
woman,  who  entered  the  hall  on 
crutches  (which  she  left  behind  her), 
took  it  up,  and  made  off  with  great 
celerity,  leaving  her  own  glove,  with 
a  challenge  in  it,  to  meet  her  the 
next  day  at  an  appointed  hour  in 
Hyde  Park.  This  occasioned  some 
mirth  at  the  lower  end  of  the  hall, 
and  it  was  remarkable  that  every  one 
was  too  well  engaged  to  pursue  her. 
A  person  in  the  same  dress  appeared 


appointed* 
though  it  was  generally  supposed  to 
be  a  good  swordsman  in  that  dis- 
guise. However,  the  champion  of 
England  politely  declined  any  con- 
test of  that  nature  with  the  fair  sex, 
and  never  made  his  appearance. 


BISHOP   WILSON. 

Dr.  Wilson,  the  good  and  well- 
known  Bishop  of  Sodor  and  Man, 
with  an  income  of  300/.  a  year,  sent 
for  his  tailor  to  make  him  a  cloak, 
and  desired  it  might  have  only  one 
loop  and  button.  The  tailor  sub- 
mitted to  his  venerable  customer, 
that  if  the  fashion  should  become 
general,  the  button-makers  would 
starve.  "  Do  you  say  so,  John?" 
replied  the  bishop,  "  then  button  it 
all  over." 


ORIGIN  OF   CARDS. 

Cards  are  said  to  have  been  in- 
vented in  the  year  1390,  to  divert 
the  melancholy  of  Charles  VI.  of 
France.  The  four  suits  are  supposed 
to  represent  the  four  orders  of  the 
P  2 


I  Of) 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    TERSONAL. 


state.  Hearts,  occurs,  which  should 
be  chcears,  choirmen,  the  church ; 
the  Spaniards  represent  copes  or 
chalices  instead  of  hearts : — Spades, 
in  French,  piques,  pikes ;  in  Spanish, 
swords,  spada,  the  military  order  or 
nobility : — Diamonds,  carreaux,  on 
Spanish  cards  dineros,  coins,  the 
monies,  or  mercantile  part: — Clubs, 
trefoil  in  French,  in  Spanish,  basta, 
a  club  or  country  weapon,  the  hus- 
bandman or  peasantry.  It  is  rather 
extraordinary,  that  in  these  days  of 
modern  refinement,  no  embellish- 
ment has  been  added  to  the  figures 
on  cards. 


SACRIFICES    AT    FUNERALS. 

The  pagan  practice  of  offering  sa- 
crifices at  the  graves  of  the  deceas- 
ed seems  to  have  maintained  its 
ground  in  Christendom  till  a  compa- 
ratively late  period.  On  the  30th  of 
July,  1450,  Duke  Henry  XVI.  of 
Landshut,  surnamed  the  Rich,  died 
at  Burghausen.  His  remains  were 
conveyed  to  Landshut,  and  deposit- 
ed in  the  family  vault  at  Seligenthal. 
On  the  following  Tuesday,  Duke 
Louis,  his  son  and  successor,  came 
from  Burghausen,  where  the  grand 
funeral  obsequies  were  solemnized, 
at  which  the  Bishops  of  Eichstiidt, 
Passau,  Ratisbon,  and  Seckau,  and 
nine  mitred  prelates  attended,  and  sa- 
crificed seven  horses. 


BEFORE    AND    AFTER    MARRIAGE. 

Mademoiselle  de  Bouille  had  an 
attachment  to  the  Marquis  de  Pom- 
miers.  As  the  relatives  of  the  lady 
were  decidedly  averse  to  the  union 
of  the  lovers,  she  eloped  with  her 
admirer,  and  in  this  manner  extorted 
the  consent  of  her  family  to  their 
marriage.  They  had  lived  together 
fourteen  years;  the  honey- -moon  was 


of  course  long  past,  and  love  had 
given  place  to  hatred  in  the  heart  of 
the  marquise.  She  ran  away  from 
her  husband,  hastened  to  Paris,  and 
preferred  a  formal  complaint  against 
him  before  the  tribunals  for  forcible 
abduction.         

EAST    INDIAN    GLOW-WORMS. 

Mr.  H.  N.  Grimm  has  given,  in 
the  German  Ephemerides,  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  curious  species  of  glow- 
worm found  in  the  East  Indies. — 
"  Being  on  the  coast  of  Coroman- 
del,"  says  this  naturalist,  "  I  often 
made  excursions  into  the  country,  to 
examine  whatever  was  curious  in  it; 
and  one  night,  perceiving  something 
luminous,  I  drew  near  to  it,  and  ob- 
served a  certain  motion,  but  would 
touch  nothing  till  the  day  began  to 
appear.  I  then  found  that  they  were 
worms,  which  displayed  the  lustre 
that  had  attracted  my  notice.  They 
were  of  a  scarlet  colour,  rolled  and 
heaped  one  upon  another,  had  nei- 
ther feet  nor  wings,  nor  any  eyes 
that  were  perceptible.  Having  taken 
away  some  of  them,  with  the  earth 
they  were  upon,  and  put  them  in  a 
phial,  they  yielded  so  much  bright* 
ness  for  an  entire  month,  that,  by 
the  aid  of  this  light  alone,  I  could 
read  and  write.  They  all  died  at 
the  expiration  of  the  month,  and 
the  light  disappeared. 

"  Something  of  the  like  kind  is 
observed  in  the  scorpions  of  the  Is- 
land of  Ceylon ;  for  if  slightly  com- 
pressed, yet  so  as  to  make  them  void 
some  liquid,  this  liquid  becomes 
bright  and  luminous-  diich  proves 
the  activity  of  their  ^jison,  an  acti- 
vity so  great,  that  if  any  one  is  stung 
by  those  insects,  he  feels  the  same 
pain  as  if  aqua-fortis,  oil  of  vitriol,  or 
an  actual  caustic,  had  been  applied 
to  the  stung  part." 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL.  10/ 


CHARLES  XII. 

Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  set  out 
on  his  second  expedition  to  Norway 
in  October  1718.  He  laid  siege  to 
Friedrichshallin  December:  the  frost 
was  so  intense,  that  the  soldiers  broke 
the  ground  as  though  they  had  been 
opening  trenches  in  a  rock;  but  they 
could  not  shrink  nor  murmur  at  la- 
bours shared  by  their  king.  Charles 
slept  on  a  board,  if  he  could  not  ob- 
tain a  little  straw ;  and,  stretched  on 
the  ground,  in  the  open  air,  during 
the  depth  of  a  Norwegian  winter, 
had  no  night-covering  but  a  cloak. 
Several  soldiers  on  duty  dropped 
down  dead  with  cold;  but  a  glance 
at  their  king  asleep  on  the  snow,  or 
performing  feats  of  unconquerable 
hardihood  or  valour,  took  from  the 
survivors  all  disposition  to  complain. 
Having  heard  of  a  woman  named 
Jane  Dottar,  in  Scania,  who  had 
lived  several  months  without  any  nou- 
rishment but  water,  Charles  resolved 
to  try  how  long  he  could  endure  to- 
tal abstinence  from  food.  He  fasted 
five  days  without  eating  or  drinking, 
and  on  the  sixth,  rode  two  leagues 
to  the  tent  of  the  Prince  of  Hesse, 
his  brother-in-law,  where  he  ate 
heartily,  without  suffering  any  in- 
convenience from  want  of  sustenance, 
or  from  repletion.  He  was  formed 
for  extremes,  corporeal  and  mental. 


DR.  JOHNSON. 

The  comprehensive  understanding 
of  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  embraced 
all  subjects,  and  threw  light  on  each. 
When  in  tlw  highlands  he  was  dri- 
ven by  conti^ry  tides  to  the  house 
of  a  gentleman  on  the  coast.  A 
large  company  happened  to  be  as- 
sembled; and  Mrs.  C.  feared  the 
doctor  would  be  incommoded  by  the 


convivial  mirth  of  the  gentlemen  and 
the  dancing  of  the  junior  guests.  In 
the  course  of  the  evening  she  took 
occasion  to  express  how  much  plea- 
sure she  felt  in  being  honoured  with 
Dr.  Johnson's  presence,  but  regret- 
ted the  gay  bustle  around  him,  which 
she  feared  could  not  be  agreeable. 
"  Madam,"  replied  the  colossus  of 
literature,  "  it  is  in  large  parties  we 
find  the  quintessence  of  society.  A 
large  table,  covered  with  various 
dishes,  allows  every  man  to  gratify 
his  palate;  and  in  a  numerous  assem- 
blage of  age  and  youth,  we  shall  not 
search  in  vain  for  some  intellectual 
companionship.  In  large  parties 
there  is  a  freedom  never  to  be  found 
in  a  small  company  ;  and,  madam,  it 
is  economical  to  fill  your  dining-hall 
with  guests.  The  same  fire,  the 
same  lights,  and  nearly  the  same  at- 
tendance, will  suffice.  An  entertain- 
ment provided  for  sixteen  persons 
will  answer  for  two  dozen,  and  so  on 
in  an  increasing  ratio.  If  you  would 
only  kill  time,  subdivide  your  visit- 
ors, and  have  a  few  in  turns ;  but  if 
you  wish  for  maintaining  social  in- 
tercourse at  the  least  possible  ex- 
pense, and  with  the  highest  zest, 
make  large  parties  when  circumstan- 
ces render  it  convenient.  I  delight 
in  seeing  happy  faces,  and  these  are 
chiefly  to  be  observed  in  the  ease 
and  gaiety  of  large  companies :  I 
use  the  term  large  in  the  common 
acceptation,  which  means  as  many 
persons  as  a  room  or  tables  can  re- 
ceive." 


HAIL    AND    ICE  IN    THE    EAST    INDIES. 

Heyne  informs  us  of  the  singular 
fact,  that  in  the  district  of  the  My- 
sore, hail  falls  only  in  the  hottest  sea- 
sons, and  then  in  pieces  of  the  weight 


108 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    DALT,    CAMFA    NA    AILLACH. 


of  half  an  ounce.  Masses  of  im- 
mense size  are  said  to  have  fallen 
from  the  clouds  at  different  periods; 
but  there  is  one  instance  upon  re- 
cord, and  it  is  besides  confirmed  by 
the  testimony  of  a  gentleman  of  the 
greatest  respectability,  and  high  in 
the  civil  service  of  the  Hon.  East 
India  Company,  of  a  piece,  that  in 
the  latter  part  of  Tippoo  Sultan's 
reign  fell  near  Seringapatam,  of  the 
size  of  an  elephant.  The  report 
given  of  it  by  Tippoo's  officers  was, 
that  it  had  the  effect  of  fire  on  the 
skin  of  those  who  touched  it — a  com- 
parison naturally  made  by  persons 
ignorant  of  the  sensation  of  extreme 
cold — and  that  two  days  elapsed  be- 
fore it  was  entirely  dissolved,  during 
which  time  it  exhaled  such  a  stench, 
as  to  prevent  persons  approaching  it. 


CATHERINE  OF  RUSSIA  AND  VOLTAIUE. 

Catherine  of  Russia  once  sent  to 
Voltaire  an  ivory  box,  turned  by  her- 
self. This  present  imparted  a  happy 
idea  to  the  poet.  Having  taken  a 
few  lessons  from  his  niece,  he  sent 
to  the  empress,  in  return,  a  pair  of 
white  silk  stockings,  knitted  by  him- 
self, and  accompanied  with  an  epis- 
tle, in  which  the  celebrated  poet  in- 
formed the  sovereign,  that  having 
received  from  her  a  present  of  a  piece 
of  man's  work  performed  by  a  wo- 
man, he  solicited  her  majesty  to  ac- 
cept from  him  a  piece  of  woman's 
work  produced  by  the  hands  of  a 
man.  It  would  have  been  a  curious 
exhibition  to  a  visitor  at  Ferney,  to 
behold  Voltaire  knitting  stockings. 
But  did  not  Hercules  use  the  distaff 
at  the  feet  of  Omphale  ? 


GAELIC    RELICS. 

No.  VI. 

THE    SONG   OF    THE    DALT,    CAMFA    NA   AILLACII, 

To  the  Muimc,  Aigeantacha,    the  high-minded ;  and  her  Spouse,  Aillach  na 

Lochlanach,  the  handsome  Dane. 


In  early  infancy  Aillach  na  Loch- 
lanach, or  the  handsome  Dane,  was 
captured  by  a  Scandinavian  pirate, 
when  on  his  passage  to  be  fostered 
in  the  castle  of  Amus  na  luip,  chief- 
tain of  the  clan  Macallister.  Amus 
na  luip,  as  in  duty  bound,  raised  an 
armament  of  his  friends,  his  kinsmen, 
and  vassals,  to  liberate  his  intended 
dalt ;  but  a  giantess  of  Lochlin,  or 
Denmark,  concealed  the  child,  and 
not  until  his  fourth  expedition  did 
Amus  na  luip  succeed  in  restoring 
him  to  his  own  country.  As  he  was 
reared  so  many  years  in  Lochlin,  he 
got  the  cognomen  of  Lochlanach,  or 
the  Dane,  from  which  epithet  pro- 
ceeded the  name  of  Maclochlan,  our 


hero  being  their  primogenitor  and 
chief.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  in 
his  wars  with  Lochlin,  Aillach  spared 
the  race  of  his  gigantic  nurse.  The 
son  of  Amus  na  luip  was  fostered  in 
the  castle  of  Aillach  at  the  same 
time  with  Maol  Challum  na  Liom- 
haed,  chief  of  the  clan  Lamont;  and 
Campa  na  Eillach,  ancestor  of  the 
Countess  of  Uxbridge  and  Lady 
Tullamore,  the  most  illustrious  of  all 
the  knights  sent  forth  to  the  holy 
wars  from  St.  Columba.  A  terrible 
pestilence  desolated  the  land  while 
Aillach  is  engaged  in  redressing  the 
wrongs  of  Mona,  or  the  Isle  of  Man. 
The  parents  and  kinsmen  of  the  dalts 
are  victims  to  disease,  and  strangers 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    DALT,    CAMPA    NA    AILLACH. 


109 


seize  their  inheritance.  When  Ail- 
lach  returns,  he  moves  all  the  friends 
and  the  forces  he  could  array,  to  ex- 
pel the  usurpers;  but  he  and  his 
people  are  overwhelmed  by  the  "  wild 
waves,"  and  the  usurpers  employ 
ruffians  to  carry  off  the  three  boys, 
who  are  brought  up  at  St.  Columba 
in  ignorance  of  their  rights ;  but  the 
ghost  of  Aillach  appears  to  his  spouse 
Aigeantacha,  and  sends  her  to  "  en- 
kindle in  their  souls  the  flame  of 
fathers  that  turned  the  tide  of  bat- 
tles." Aigeantacha  Clancolla  is  daugh- 
ter to  the  lord  of  the  Isles,  and  the 
most  distinguished  heroine  of  her 
generation. 

As  two  streams  from  the  topmost 
crag  of  a  pine-crested  precipice  send 
forth  a  lovely  sound,  while  sparkling 
in  the  beams  of  noon,  they  hasten 
to  meet  in  broad  winding  light  through 
sloping  glens ;  so  the  fame  of  the 
dauntless  in  soul,  the  fame  of  Ail- 
lach and  Aigeantacha,  shall  roll  in 
brightness  to  after-times.  Aillach  na 
Lochlanach !  four  seasons  did  Amus 
na  luip  lead  his  powers  to  deliver 
thee  from  the  land  of  snow.  Thrice 
he  failed ;  for  the  giantess  hid  thee 
in  caves  of  nameless  incantation,  and 
swift  were  thy  steps  ere  the  friend  of 
thy  infancy  restored  thee  to  the 
green-headed  hills  of  Argathela.  The 
breast  of  a  giantess  reared  thee  to 
stature  above  all  the  sons  of  Alba  or 
Lochlin ;  and  high  soared  thy  fame 
over  all,  except  the  knights  of  the 
Holy  War,  gifted  with  powers  above 
the  powers  of  man! 

Aigeantacha !  of  the  race  of  clan 
Colla,  lords  of  the  Green  Isle,  in 
stateliness  and  beauty  unmatched 
among  virgins,  heroes  from  sea  to 
sea  sought  the  maid ;  and  Cealgoire, 
prince  of  the  Firbolg,  swore  to  pos- 
sess the   star  of  Islay,  or  die.     To 


the  lofty  halls  of  Finlagan  came  the 
crafty  suitor,  with  smooth  words  of 
peace  to  the  stripling  chief  Urrain, 
the  brother  of  Aigeantacha.  Aillach 
trained  the  youth  to  war  with  the 
swift-footed  wanderers  of  the  wilds, 
and  with  Cealgoire  they  wake  the 
dawn  on  a  hill  of  roes.  Aigeanta- 
cha was  there  with  two  daughters  of 
the  bow,  for  she  could  not  rest  in 
her  bower  since  Dialtin  from  Jura, 
beneath  a  mist-girdled  moon,  would 
have  forced  her  to  his  white-sailed 
war-bark.  He  had  dragged  her 
from  the  grasp  of  her  weeping  dam- 
sels to  a  long  gallery,  when  Aillach, 
single  and  unarmed,  came  singing  a 
boat-song,  after  knocking  down  the 
basking  seals  on  a  distant  beach. 
Snatching  a  poleaxe  from  a  follower 
of  Dialtin,  he  mowed  down  the  foe 
on  every  side,  as  dry  grass  before 
a  whirlwind.  Aillach  loved  Aigean- 
tacha as  his  fame,  and  the  lightning 
of  his  full  dark  eye  had  entered  her 
fair  bosom.  They  feared  not  the 
cold  proud  regards  of  Cealgoire, 
and  the  boast  of  Islay  believed  her- 
self safe  when  Dialtin  groaned  in 
death  from  the  stroke  of  Aillach. 

"  Aigeantacha,"  said  Cealgoire, 
"  unerring  is  thy  feathered  shaft, 
and  three  dun-sided  mothers,  with 
their  fawns  and  branchy  -  headed 
mates,  are  following  the  grassy  course 
of  a  brook,  which,  from  the  grey 
rocks  to  the  west,  shall  soon  leap 
into  the  far-spreading  main." 

The  hunters  attend,  with  daugh- 
ters of  the  chase,  to  watch  the  steps 
of  the  deer,  when  they  should  bend 
their  graceful  necks  to  quaff  the  liv- 
ing stream.  From  a  creek  spring 
the  crowding  Firbolg.  They  stretch 
their  brawny  arms  to  seize  Aigean- 
tacha; but  as  a  sweeping  cloud,  the 
spear  of  Aillach  darkens  their  pride. 


110 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    DALT,   CAMPA    NA    AILLACH. 


As  stones  trembling  with  the  flood  of 
a  torrent,  they  fall  along  the  shore. 
Cealgoire  lifts  his  lance  to  nierce  the 
side  of  Aillach,  closely  engaged  in 
the  fight  with  his  people,  but  Ai- 
geantacha  from  her  crooked  yew 
sends  death  to  his  heart. 

"  In  rage  the  Firbolg  will  return 
to  avenge  the  fall  of  Cealgoire,"  said 
Aillach.'  "  Urrain,  hero  of  the  future 
battles,  a  light  skiff  bounding  over 
the  waves,  shall  summon  the  vassals 
of  Aillach  to  join  the  warriors  of 
Islay,  and  the  Firbolg  shall  be  dis- 
pelled as  passing  vapours  before  as- 
cending day." 

"  My  steel  is  new  to  war,"  said 
Urrain,  "  but  my  soid  is  fire.  I  burn 
to  flash  over  the  foe." 

"  The  foe  will  strive  to  despwil  Fin- 
lagan  of  the  beam  of  beauty,"  said 
Aillach :  "  let  her  be  the  spouse  of 
Aillach,  that  he  may  leave  her  safe 
with  the  holy  prior  of  Oransay,  the 
brother  of  his  grandsire.  The  ghost- 
ly father  of  Islay  may  bless  us  this 
present  hour." 

"  Aigeantacha  will  be  the  spouse 
of  Aillach,"  said  the  heroine,  shad- 
ing with  her  heavy  locks  the  blushes 
of  love  on  her  cheeks;  "  but  never 
shall  she  part  from  him  on  a  field  of 
spears.  The  daughters  of  clan  Colla 
know  not  the  little  soul  of  fear.  War 
is  their  joy.  Side  by  side,  Aillach 
and  Aigeantacha  shall  tread  the  path 
of  fame." 

Side  by  side,  Aillach  and  Ai- 
geantacha subdued  the  Firbolg  in 
Islay,  and  amidst  their  own  plains  of 
rich  pasture  for  the  lowing  mothers 
of  milky  streams.  Side  by  side  they 
scattered  the  hosts  of  Lochlin,  and 
pursued  them  to  their  frozen  coasts. 
They  carried  death  to  the  hills  and 
valleys  of  the  north;  but  spared  the 
offspring  of  the  giantess,  who,  in  the 


days  of  his  infancy,  nurtured  Aillach 
with  the  love  of  mnime.  From  her  bo- 
som he  drew  to  himself  the  strength 
of  seven  men;  she  laid  open  to  him 
hidden  stores  of  wisdom  to  heal  the 
wounds  of  the  brave,  and  to  raise 
from  a  couch  of  suffering  the  prison- 
ers of  disease.  The  giantess  braced 
the  arm  of  Aillach,  to  overthrow  the 
wild  hull  of  the  desert,  and  binding 
him  with  thongs,  his  fury  crouched 
to  the  chief,  as  a  dog  is  humbled  be- 
fore his  master.  The  unweaponed 
arm  of  Aillach  defeated  an  ambush 
of  men,  and  scared  the  monsters  of 
a  dreary  forest,  when,  with  all  the 
branching  roots,  he  tore  up  a  lofty 
pine,  and  hurled  his  dreadful  strokes 
on  every  head .  Aillach  and  Aigean- 
tacha rest  not  in  the  fame  of  their  early 
deeds,  when  the  Firbolg  melted  be- 
fore the  blaze  of  their  valour,  and 
Lochlin  fell  or  fled,  deprived  of  safe- 
ty on  land  or  sea.  The  wide-spread- 
ing renown  of  their  might  is  heard  in 
every  hall  or  fortress ;  for  the  hero 
and  the  heroine  were  shields  of  the 
feeble,  and  their  tall  hosts  lifted  a 
forest  of  spears  to  aid  the  unhappy. 
Short  were  their  days  of  peace ;  bonds 
of  friendship  called  them  to  every 
feud ;  and  great  were  their  works, 
though  the  sheathed  sword  hung  un- 
moved on  their  walls.  As  meteors 
of  night  break  the  slumber  of  eagles 
amidst  their  rock}'  summits,  so  the 
witch  and  the  wizard  in  their  caverns 
of  gloom  started  with  affright  from 
Aillach,  when  the  lightning  of  his 
quick  glances  shivered  in  pieces  the 
fetters  of  enchantment.  The  fog 
and  glashlii,  with  all  the  spirits  of 
earth,  sea,  and  air,  trembled  at  a 
heave  of  his  breath;  and  day  and 
night  again  and  again  returned  ere 
they  ventured  to  look  abroad,  be- 
tween the  misty  blending  of  light  and 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    DALT,    CAMPA    XA    AILLACn, 


111 


darkness,  when  the  moon  wraps  her  I 
dim  face  in  a  mantle  of  vapours  to  | 
wait   the   coming   morn.      All  who 
demanded  the  counsel  of  wisdom  or 
of  health,  are  gathering  to  the  halls  I 
of  Aillach  and  Aigeantacha.     They 
bless  the  name  of  Aillach,  the  seer 
of  times  yet  remote  and   leech  of 
never- failing  balsams,    and  Aigean- 
tacha, the   right   hand  of  kindness. 
She  receives  the  dalts,  the  sons  of 
far-descended  chiefs,  and  the  light 
of  heroines  is  fixed  and  settled  as  a 
birch  of  many  summers,  with  all  her 
lovely  plants  springing  beneath  the 
cover  of  her  leafy  branches.     Her 
first-born  to  life  is  chasing  the  thistle- 
down in  shaggy  moors,  and  another 
high  bosom  promised    higher  joy, 
when  Aillach  is  called  to  redress  the 
wrongs  of  Mona ;  Aigeantacha  is  glad 
in  the  hope  of  years   to  come,  un- 
knowing that  pestilence,  more  dire 
than  the  rage  of  steel,  or  the  con- 
test of  wild  waves  and  winds,  has 
poisoned   the   skies  and  wasted  the 
countries.     As  streaming  heats  from 
a  fenny  hollow  send  quivering  rays 
through  the  silent  hour  of  night,  the 
conquerors  of  many   fields  and  the 
daring  rulers  of  the  prow  have  sunk 
helpless,   like  new-born   infancy  or 
the  last  decay  of  age.     They  strug- 
gled against  overwhelming  disease; 
they  raised  the  drooping  head,  but 
the   faint  sickly  light  is  gone;    the 
beams  of  war  shine  no  more.     The 
greedy  crow  clamours  over  the  un- 
buried  dead,  and  young  eagles  tear 
the  limbs  of  men  that  cut  down  thou- 
sands in  the  strife  of  the  valiant.  The 
parent  birds  and  mountain  falcons, 
with  sharpened  beak  and  talons  and 
flapping  wings,  are  in  loud  screaming 
fray  with  wild  dogs  of  the  desert ; 
while  yelling,  moaning  ghosts  mingle 
Vol.  II.  No.  VIII. 


in  hail-blasts,  on  heavy  clouds,  bran- 
dishing in  vain  their  airy  weapons  to 
scare  the  prowlers  of  earth  and  sky. 
Three  chieftains  of  renown  have 
died  in  the  pestilence;  their  people 
are  mouldering  near  them,  or  have 
found  a  grave  in  the  jaws  of  beasts  of 
prey.  Strangers  have  seized  the  in- 
heritance of  their  sons,  the  dalts  of 
Aillach  and  Aigeantacha ;  and  the 
usurpers  are  deaf  to  the  voice  of  the 
hero,  returned  with  brightened  fame 
from  the  wars  of  Mona.  In  haste 
he  returned;  for,  the  seer  of  troubles 
undawned,  he  crowds  every  sail  and 
plies  every  oar  for  Argathela,  and 
speedily  again  embattles  his  warriors 
to  aid  the  dalts;  but  fierce  and  cruel, 
the  spirits  of  the  deep  are  on  the 
side  of  the  spoilers  of  infancy. 

A  mourner  sits  lonely  on  the  dark 
grey  bvow  of  a  rock.  Her  eyes, 
dimmed  with  tears,  are  fixed  on  the 
echoing  main.  As  a  reed  quaking 
over  a  marsh,  so  sad,  so  restless  is 
the  decaying  frame  of  Aigeantacha, 
the  spouse  of  Aillach.  He  sought 
on  distant  shores  the  powers  of  his 
friends  to  save  the  dalts  from  the 
secret  arts  and  open  violence  of  little 
men;  but  no  more  shall  his  stately 
presence  gladden  the  soul  of  his 
spouse;  and  the  children  of  her  bo- 
som are  gone,  and  she  knows  not 
their  place  of  retreat.  A  dark  ship 
came  over  the  tides,  and  the  sleeping 
offspring  of  the  brave  are  torn  from 
the  outstretched  arms  of  the  muime. 
Bleeding  and  faint,  she  traced  the 
spoilers ;  they  had  felt  her  steel,  and 
they  repaid  her  blows,  and  pale  and 
motionless  on  a  bank  of  the  soft- 
voiced  river  she  lies,  until  the  spirit 
of  the  stream  revived  the  heroine 
with  water  from  her  dripping  locks. 
She  lives.  Her  bards  and  harpers 
Q 


112 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  DALT,  CAMPA  NA  AII.LACH. 


are  in  every  land  in  search  of  the 
dalts;  but  of  them  no  glimpse  ap- 
pears, and  Aillach,  with  his  men  at 
arms,  reposes  for  ever  in  the  oozy 
beds  of  ocean.  White  as  the  morn- 
ing mists  of  heaven,  the  cheek  of  Ai- 
geantacha  meets  the  blast.  Heedless 
of  herself,  she  feels  not  the  damps  of 
night.  Grief  hangs  on  her  soul  as 
the  darkest  cloud  of  the  desert,  and 
in  sounds  mournful  and  slow  she 
sings  her  notes  of  sorrow. 

"  Moon  after  moon  shines  lovely 
among  her  sparkling  stars.  She  hides 
her  yellow  glimmering  beams;  the 
stars  retire  to  their  caves  of  mourn- 
ing ;  the  vaults  of  heaven  are  shaken 
by  thunder,  as  the  war-cry  of  a  thou- 
sand heroes  awakening  the  echoes 
from  hill  to  hill,  and  lightnings  dart 
among  wreathy  fogs  to  search  the 
leafy  pride  of  summer.  But  the 
storm  passes  away;  the  moon  walks 
in  joy  through  a  blue  unruffled  sky, 
and  starry  multitudes  twinkle  around 
her.  So  Aigeantacha  rejoiced  when 
the  lofty  brow  of  Aillach  shone  on 
her  heart,  and  the  dalts  sported  by 
her  side.  But,  though  moon  and 
stars  find  then*  places  anew,  the 
spouse  of  my  soul,  the  children  of  my 
bosom,  return  no  more.  With  the 
glad  wildness  of  deer  in  their  speed, 
how  oft  have  my  boys  rushed  from 
me  to  chase  the  hawk  in  his  rapid 
flight;  yet  the  lengthened  shadows  of 
evening  gave  them  back  to  my  arms. 
They  now  return  only  in  the  dreams 
of  my  lonely  nights  ;  I  awake  in  the 
folds  of  darkness,  and  the  young 
beams  of  my  hope  arise  not  to  cheer 
the  gloom.  Could  not  their  soft- 
blooming  infancy  move  the  fierce  rul- 
ers of  the  surges  to  spare  them?  or 
why  did  they  spare  the  life  of  Ai- 
geantacha? Her  steel  was  drenched 
hii  their  blood,  arid  though  their  laur 


ces  pierced  the  hand  that  guided  the 
point,  she  still  lives,  a  howling  gust 
in  a  leafless  forest.  Her  days  are 
wasted  in  gloom,  and  her  nights  are 
steeped  in  the  torrent  of  grief.  Sur- 
rounded by  the  foes  of  Aillach  and 
the  foes  of  the  dalts,  she  must  man 
her  castle-walls,  and  hourly  prepare 
for  sudden  danger;  but  more  con- 
suming is  the  sorrow  that  preys  in 
secret,  while  the  high  look  and  firm 
step  of  the  heroine  maintain  in  her 
people  the  fire  of  their  fathers." 

The  skirt  of  a  bright  cloud  skims 
before  the  weeping  eyes  of  Aigean- 
tacha, and  the  form  of  Aillach  bends 
over  her  with  glances  of  love  and  the 
awful  light  of  valour.  But  he  speaks 
in  the  weak  sounds  of  a  pale  watery 
ghost;  for  in  caverns  beneath  the 
rolling  tides  are  laid  the  spouse  of 
Aigeantacha  and  his  warriors. 

"  Heroine  of  many  fights,"  he  said,. 
"  the  last  hope  of  the  mighty  in 
arms  grow  to  manhood  in  sea-girt 
cells.  Let  Aigeantacha  of  the  fear- 
less soul  guide  a  lone  bark  to  St. 
Columba;  let  the  hands  that  support- 
ed the  tender  limbs  of  the  infants 
give  to  their  grasp  the  sword  of  their 
fathers,  and  the  lips  that  taught 
them  the  name  of  Aillach  enkindle 
in  their  souls  the  flame  of  ancestors 
that  turned  the  tide  of  battles  among 
hosts  of  the  valiant.  As  the  shower 
of  spring  upon  the  young  oaks  of  a 
hill,  so  the  pride  of  high  descent  shall 
rouse  new  life  in  the  offspring  of  the 
brave." 

Aigeantacha  finds  the  dalts  in  sea- 
girt cells.  Her  words  are  words  of 
love  and  joy,  and  the  smothered  flame 
of  their  soul  blazes  in  beautiful  light. 

Reply  the  true  sons  of  the  mighty 
in  arms: 

"  No  name  belongs  to  us,  until  a 
name  shall  be  won  amidst  the  din  of 


T.  W.  P.  Oginsky. 


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Da  Capo 
Segno. 


I 


NATIONAL    rOLONAISE. 


113 


crashing  arms  and  rattling  mail.  The 
muhne  that  ventured  in  a  lone  bark 
to  call  us  to  feats  of  renown  shall 


exult  in  the  sword  of  our  fathers 
received  from  her  hand." 

B.G. 


NATIONAL  POLONAISE. 


By  F.  W. 

This  polonaise  is  offered  by  the 
publisher  to  his  subscribers  as  an  au- 
thentic specimen  of  the  real  charac- 
ter of  the  polacca,  composed  by  a 
Pole,  an  amateur,  forwarded  to  Mr. 
Ackermann  from  Germany,  and,  as 
he  presumes,  little,  if  at  all,  known 
in  this  country.  It  was  accompanied 
by  an  anecdote,  which,  if  true,  can- 
not but  greatly  enhance  the  interest 
•of  the  composition. — Oginsky,  it  is 
stated,  was  an  officer  in  the  Prussian 
service.  The  charms  of  tke  lovely 
Queen  of  Prussia,  whom  a  feeling 
for  the  misfortunes  of  her  people 
and  the  brutal  conduct  of  Buona- 


P.  Oginsky. 

parte  consigned  to  a  premature  grave, 
had  an  irresistible  effect  upon  the 
heart  of  Oginsky.  lie  fell  in  love, 
a  love  embittered  by  a  conviction,  not 
only  of  the  impossibility  of  success, 
but  of  the  criminality  of  his  flame. 
In  this  state  of  mind,  if  report  speaks 
true,  Oginsky  presumed  to  address 
a  letter  to  the  wife  of  his  sovereign, 
inclosing  this  polacca  of  his  compo- 
sition, which  the  queen  had  a  few 
evenings  before  danced  in  his  pre- 
sence, with  a  grace  peculiar  to  her- 
self; and  after  having  dispatched  the 
messenger — blew  out  bis  brains. 


MUSICAL 

Vocal  Anthology,  or  the  Flow- 
ers of  Song,  being  a  Collection  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  esteemed 
Vocal  Music  of  all  Europe,  with 
English   Words ;  also  an  Appen- 
dix, consisting  of  original  focal 
Compositions,    and  a    Catalogue 
raisonnt  of  the  Contents.     Part  I. 
Pr.   6s.  —  (John   Gale,    Bruton- 
street,  Bond-street.) 
The  plan  of  this  work  is  stated  at 
some  length  in  a  prefatory  notice:  it 
is  intended  to  be  the  vehicle  of  a  col- 
lection of  English,  Scotch,  Irish,  and 
Welch  vocal  music  of  decided  merit, 
and  to  include  also  a  large  propor- 
tion of  approved   Italian,  German, 
and  French  songs,  with  the  original 
and  English  words,  national  airs  of 
various  other  nations,  and  an  appen- 


REVIEW. 

dix  of  original  music.  The  whole  to 
be  completed  in  eighteen  parts,  each 
part  to  contain  biographical  and  cri- 
tical notices  relating  to  its  contents. 

In  the  part  before  us,  we  find  the 
late  Mr.  Samuel  Webbe's  "  Mansion 
of  Peace;"  the  Scotch  air,  "  I'll  lay 
my  hand  down  and  die,"  arranged  as 
a  duet;  "  The  Setting  Sun,"  by  Him- 
mel,  the  German;  "Oh!  beware,"  by 
the  same  author;  the  well-known  air, 
"  The  Violet,"  by  Mozart ;  a  Swiss 
"  Ranz  des  Vaches,"  and  "  The  Bu- 
rial of  Sir  John  Moore,"  an  original 
glee. 

This  selection  upon  the  whole  is 
good ;  "  The  Setting  Sun,"  by  Him- 
mel,  indeed,  is  a  classic  composition 
of  intense  feeling,  and  of  the  highest 
value  as  a  work  of  art.  The  origi- 
O    9. 


114 


MUSICAL    UEVIIiW. 


rial  glee  may  be  termed  respectable 
in  its  way,  without  presenting  any 
very  striking  features  of  thought  or 
science.  The  harmonic  arrangement 
of  all  these  pieces  is  correct  and  in 
every  respect  unexceptionable,  the 
typographical  execution  beautiful, 
and  the  paper  excellent.  The  pub- 
lication, therefore,  appears  to  us  in 
every  respect  worthy  of  the  special 
attention  of  the  vocal  amateur. 

Since  writing  the  above,  we  have 
seen   two   further   numbers   of  the 
"  Vocal  Anthology,"  fully  equal  to 
their  predecessor  in  point  of  selec- 
tion and  general  merit,  thus  afford- 
ing a  fair  earnest  of  the  proprietor's 
perseverance  in  fulfilling  his  promise. 
Ode  to  Solitude,  a  Canzonet,  writ- 
ten by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Dixon, 
composed  by  Samuel  Webbe.    Pr. 
Is.  (xl. —  (Chappel  and  Co.  New 
Bond-street.) 

A  soft  and  pleasing  melody,  com- 
bining tender  feeling  with  consider- 
able correctness  of  verbal  expression. 
The  accompaniment  is  effective  and 
properly  diversified.     Two  bars  for 
"  Serene"  are  rather  too  great  a  syl- 
labic extension ;  and  the  part  in  A  b , 
p.  3, 1.  1,  appears  to  us  to  terminate 
rather  unsatisfactorily. 
La  mi  a  Dorabella,  a  favourite  Trio 
from  the  Opera  "  Cosifan  tutte," 
composed  by  Mozart;  arranged 
for  the  Piano-forte,  with  an  Intro- 
duction,   and  inscribed  to  Miss 
Paton,  by  S.  Webbe.     Pr.  3s.— 
(Clementi  and  Co.) 
The  whole  matter  of  Mozart's  trio 
is  introduced  in  the  present  arrange- 
ment of  Mr.  Webbe,  the  successive 
portions  of  the  original  being  separa- 
ted by  episodical  digressions  of  Mr. 
W.'s  inditing,  or  the  authentic  parts 
themselves  amplified  in  the  shape  of 
variation  or  quick  passages:  the  lat- 


ter are  generally  devised  with  consi- 
derable freedom  and  ease  of  expres- 
sion: this  is  particularly  the  case  in 
the  two  or  three  last  pages.  The 
piece,  moreover,  presents  some  cle- 
ver features  of  arrangement,  without 
imposing  on  the  performer  great  ex- 
ecutive difficulties. 
A  Series  of  popular  Airs,  with  Vari- 
ations for  the  Violin,  and  an  Ac- 
companiment for  a  second  Violin, 
composed,  and  dedicated  to  N. 
Mori,  Esq.  by  James  Sanderson. 
Op.  53.  Nos.  I.  to  VI.  Pr.  3s. 
each. — (Clementi  and  Co.) 
The  pen  of  Mr.  S.  labours  with 
unabated  zeal  in  the  praiseworthy 
endeavour  of  securing  to  the  violin 
the  rank  which  it  ought  to  maintain 
among  amateurs,  but  which,  unfor- 
tunately, it  is  losing  daily.  The  most 
perfect,  the  most  enchanting  instru- 
ment, the  soul  of  the  orchestra,  is 
so  unaccountably  and  wantonly  neg- 
lected, that  a  teacher  on  it  can  scarce- 
ly earn  money  to  find  him  in  strings 
and  rosin,  unless  his  violin  be  taken 
in  tow  by  the  universal  favourite, 
the  piano-forte.  The  flute,  that  im- 
perfect, ineffective,  and  often  false- 
tuned  instrument,  has  numerous  vo- 
taries, and  frequent  supplies  of  new 
publications,  while  a  composition  for 
the  violin  is  not  deemed  worth  a  pane 
in  a  shop-window.  Why  slight  an 
instrument  which  offers  infinite  ad- 
vantages and  resources,  which  is  the 
surest  means  of  forming  a  delicate 
musical  ear,  because  it  compels  the 
player  to  find  the  notes  of  the  scale? 
Hence  the  purest  singers  are  those 
that  have  practised  the  violin ;  and, 
on  that  account,  it  ought  to  enter 
the  course  of  vocal  tuition,  not  ex- 
cepting even  females.  Many  of  our 
best  singers  have  slight  faults  in  their 
intonation,  which  proceed  from  the 


MUSICAL    HKVIKW. 


115 


imperfect  scale  of  the  piano-forte, 
upon  which  their  solfeggi  have  been 
formed :  their  "  sensible  note,"  for  in- 
stance, is  almost  invariably  too  flat, 
&c.  No  instrument,  besides,  is  bet- 
ter calculated  to  form  the  singer's 
taste  and  invention  for  passages  of 
embellishment.  In  fact,  violin-pas- 
sages ought  to  be  adopted  as  the 
models  for  vocal  fiorimenti.  The 
nearer  the  latter  approach  the  cha- 
racter of  violin-execution,  the  more 
graceful  and  perfect  they  will  be 
found  to  be. 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  S.'s  work,  we 
can  only  say,  that  in  it  the  student 
on  the  violin  will  find  a  course  of 
practical  instruction  embracing  every 
peculiarity  and  nicety  of  execution 
or  expression.  Each  number  is  de- 
voted to  one  theme,  with  a  dozen 
variations  in  every  diversity  of  style 
deduced  from  it ;  the  subjects  being 
as  follow: 

No.  1.  "  Cease  your  funning." 
No.  2    "  Kinloch  of  Kinloch." 
No.  3.  "  Robin  Adair." 
No.  4.  "  Di  tanti  palpiti." 
No  5.  «  The  Highland  Laddie." 
No.  6.  "  Auld  lang  syne." 

As  the  numerous  variations  upon 
all  these  themes  are  throughout  ex- 
cellent, it  may  be  deemed  invidious 
to  notice  any  preferably.  Those  up- 
on Rossini's  air  and  upon  "  Robin 
Adair,"  however,  are  particular  fa- 
vourites with  us.  Mr.  S.  has  care- 
fully indicated  the  most  essential  fea- 
tures of  fingering,  peculiar  shifts, 
particular  strings,  harmonics,  &c. ; 
and  he  has  added  various  other  ob- 
servations for  the  student's  guidance, 
so  that  this  work  may  serve  as  a  com- 
plete practical  code  of  violin-execu- 
tion. We  heartily  wish  it  all  the 
success  which  it  deserves. 
"  Anxious  by  the  gliding  stream" 

the  admired  Angling  Duet,  writ- 


ten by  Miss  Scott,  and  sung  by 
Messrs.  Broadhurst  and  Isaacs 
at  the  Adelphi  Theatre;  composed 
by  James  Sanderson.  Pr.  2s. — 
(Blackman,  New  Bridge-street, 
Southwark.) 

Although  the  title  leads  to  the 
conclusion  that  this  production  is  not 
fresh  from  the  composer's  pen,  it 
has  not  before  come  under  our  no- 
tice, and  as  we  have  been  highly 
amused  with  it,  we  gladly  introduce 
it  to  our  readers.  Miss  Scott  ha3 
very  humorously  described  the  un- 
profitable delights  of  piscatorian  ama- 
teurship;  and  Mr.  Sanderson  has 
been  equally  successful  in  musically 
seizing  the  comical  points  of  his  fair 
poet's  labour.  To  just  as  much  sci- 
entific combination  as  the  calibre  of 
the  theatre  would  bear,  he  has  united 
the  attractions  of  good  flowing  me- 
lody and  apt  verbal  expression,  and 
thus  produced  a  duet,  with  which 
every  body  is  likely  to  be  pleased 
and  put  into  good-humour.  There 
are  two  movements,  one  in  ■£,  and 
the  other  in  f .  The  fun  begins  at 
"  Hush,  &c.  I've  a  nibble ;"  and  in 
this  part  of  the  poem  Mr.  S.  has  had 
the  good  fortune,  or  rather  the  good 
sense  and  correct  taste,  to  be  infinite- 
ly comical,  without  trenching  on  mu- 
sical vulgarity,  a  merit  the  absence 
of  which  is  to  be  deplored  in  most 
comic  songs  on  the  English  stage. 
"  La  Recreation"  a  favourite  Po- 
lacca,  composed  for  the  Piano- 
forte, and  respectfully  inscribed 
to  his  Friend  Mr.  George  R. 
Maugham,  by  James  Salmon.  Pr. 
2s.  —  (Blackman,  New  Bridge- 
street,  Southwark.) 
We  see  no  striking  novelty  in  the 
theme  of  this  polacca,  but  it  pos- 
sesses the  essential  characteristics  of 
this  kind  of  composition — a  graceful 


116 


MUSICAL    RliYIKW. 


steadiness,  and  a  measured  vivacity  of  I 
motion.  The  whole  of  the  super- 
structure, too,  whether  considered 
with  a  view  to  melodic  invention  or 
treatment,  or  harmonic  colouring,  is 
pleasing,  and  in  every  sense  com- 
mendable. The  minore  presents  some 
select  harmonic  touches,  a  very  sa- 
tisfactory distribution  of  three  or 
even  four  parts  among  the  two  hands, 
&c.  and  the  coda  is  appropriate  and 
showy.  The  whole  is  very  fit  for 
the  desk  of  the  pupil. 
The  Music  in  Macbeth,  composed 

by  Matthew  JLoclce,  arranged  as 

Duets  for  the  Harp  and  Piano- 
forte,  with  Accompaniments  for 

the  Flute  and  Violoncello,  ad  lib. 

by  J.    F.   Burrowes.      Pr.    7s. — 

(Goulding  and  Co.) 

That  a  composition  of  nearly  two 
centuries  ago  should  have  maintained 
its  footing  on  the  stage  to  the  pre- 
sent day,  is  a  phenomenon  worthy 
of  remark  in  the  history  of  the  sci- 
ence, although  not  a  problem  of  dif- 
ficult solution.  M.  Locke's  strains 
vibrate  with  a  sort  of  Gothic  gran- 
deur; he  was  master  of  his  art.  The 
present  generation  therefore  may 
pride  themselves  upon  having  pre- 
served a  feeling  for  the  simple  but 
manly  and  energetic  production  of 
an  age  long  gone  by,  and  we  should 
be  grieved  if  ever  it  were  laid  aside. 

Mr.  Burrowes'  arrangement,  like 
every  thing  of  this  kind  which  he 
touches,  is  perfect ;  it  conveys  as 
complete  an  impression  of  the  ori- 
ginal as  the  absence  of  text  can  ad- 
mit of,  his  judgment  having  prompt- 
ed him  not  to  fritter  away  the  beau- 
ties of  this  venerable  monument  by 
any  encroachment  of  adventitious 
amplification. 
Select   Italian   Airs,    arranged    as 

Rondos  for  the  Piano-forte,  dedi- 


cated to   Miss   SeahrooJc,  by  S. 
F.  Rimbault.     No.  IV.  Pr.  2s.— 

(Hodsoll.) 

CarafFa's  elegant  and  highly  ori- 
ginal air,  "  Fra  tante  angoscie  e  pal- 
piti,"  forms  the  groundwork  of  this 
rondo,  in  which  the  excellence  of  the 
subject  has  no  doubt  inspired  Mr. 
11. 's  pen ;  for  the  rondo  is  uncommon- 
ly well  contrived,  and  full  of  interest. 
In  giving  the  theme  at  the  outset, 
Mr.  R.  we  observe,  has  not  had  the 
courage  to  adhere  to  the  very  du- 
bious harmony  of  the  original,  which 
makes  nothing  of  letting  chords  like 
these,  C,  8,  5  and  D,  3,  5,  succeed 
each  other  without  ceremony.  We 
too  felt  qualms,  when  we  heard  for 
the  first  time  Torri  sing  the  air  with 
such  accompaniment;  but  we  have 
got  over  our  scruples.  'Tis  nothing 
when  you  get  used  to  it. 

Sixth  Fantasia,  consisting  of  the 
most  favourite  Airs  from  Rossini  s 
celebrated  Opera  of  "  II  Barbiere 
di  Seviglia,"  composed,  and  ar- 
ranged for  the  Piano-forte,  with 
Flute  Accompaniment ,  ad  lib.  by 
John  Purkis.     Pr.  3s.— (Hodsoll.) 

Like  the  five  prior  operatic  "  Fan- 
tasias" of  Mr.  Purkis,  the  present 
publication  presents  a  very  small 
quantum  of  fantasy-work  of  his  own 
inditing.  Its  attraction  consists  in 
the  neat  concatenation  of  a  certain 
number  of  the  best  airs  in  the  opera, 
a  little  amplification  here  and  there, 
and  a  very  effective  harmonic  treat- 
ment. All  this  is  perhaps  so  much 
the  better ;  the  performer  has  more 
of  Rossini,  and  less  of  Purkis.  This 
is  far  from  being  meant  as  a  personal 
reflection.  It  was  Mr.  P.'s  object 
to  do  precisely  what  he  has  done, 
and  we  doubt  whether  it  could  have 
been  done  more  properly  by  any  one. 


MUSICAL    R'KVIKW. 


117 


Only  the  title   "  Fantasia"  is  some- 
what  inapplicable. 

Peter's  admired  Overture   to   Leo- 
nore,    arranged  for   the   Piano- 
forte, with  Accompaniments  for  a 
Flute,  Violin,  and  Violoncello,  ad 
lib.  by  S.  F.  Rimbault.     Pr.  3s. ; 
without   Accompaniments,    2s. — 
(Hodsoll,  High-Holborn.) 
This  is  an  overture  of  great  merit, 
and  of  very  striking  effect.     It  pre- 
sents none  of  the  tricks  and  manner- 
isms of  Rossini's  compositions  of  this 
class,  but  is  written  in  a  classic  style 
throughout.      The   arrangement  is 
unexceptionable. 

Shield's  admired  Air,  "  What  are  the 
boasted  joys  of  lore,"  from  the 
Opera  of"  The  Prophet,"  arrang- 
ed with  Variations  for  the  Piano- 
forte and  Flute,  by  S.  F.  Rim- 
bault. Pr.  2.v.— (Hodsoll,  High- 
Holborn.) 

The  subject  possesses  all  the  sweet 
simplicity  which   distinguishes   Mr. 
Shield's  writings ;  but  the  absence  of 
a  second  strain  forms  a  drawback  to 
the  interest  of  the  variations,  which, 
without  offering  any  thing  deviating 
from  the  usual  routine  of  variation- 
making,  are  fluent,  neat,  and  ever}' 
way  satisfactory.  The  flute,  although 
not  indispensable,  has  very  effective 
duties  to  discharge. 
"    Ode   to  the  Baric,"    written    by 
Harry  Stoe  Van  Dyh,  Esq.  and 
adapted  to   a  celebrated  Waltz, 
with  an  Accompaniment  for  the 
Piano-forte,  by  John  Barnett.  Pr. 
2s. 

Mr.  Rarnett's  merit  consists  in  fit- 
ting a  couple  of  very  interesting  stan- 
zas to  a  well-known  excellent  German 
waltz,  and  arranging  the  accompani- 
ment. Both  these  tasks  have,  up- 
on the  whole,  been  satisfactorily  ac- 
complished ;    and   the   words,    with 


one  or  two  exceptions,  sing  smoothly: 
|  "  ro.  .  .  .  sos  and,"  |  and  the  like, 
sounds  awkwardly.  In  the  accompa- 
niment a  little  more  variety  and  ima- 
ginative freedom  would  have  added 
to  the  interest. 

"  County   Guy,"   the    Words  from 
"  Queutin   Durward,"1  composed, 
and  respectfully  dedicated  to  Miss 
Stephens,  by  Robert  Beale.     Pr. 
Is.  Gd. —  (C.  Cerock,  Cornhill.) 
A  pretty  little  ballad,  regular  in 
measure  and  rhythm.      The  ideas 
possess  a  due  degree  of  intelligible 
expression,  and  they  proceed  in  pro- 
per connection,  with  a  certain  fresh- 
ness which  cannot  fail  to  please. 
QUADRILLES. 
Among  the  numerous  collections 
of  dances  of  this  description,  we  feel 
warranted  in  briefly  noticing  the  fol- 
lowing : 

La  JDanse,  a  favourite  Set  of  Qua . 
drilles,   composed  and   arranged 
for  the  Pianoforte,  and  respect- 
fully dedicated  to  the  Lady  Tich- 
bome,  by  H.  C.  Nixon.   Pr.  3s.— 
(Rutter  and  McCarthy,  New  Bond- 
street.) 
A  Selection   of  the   most   admired 
Quadrilles,  with  their  proper  Fi- 
gures, in  French  and  English,  ar- 
ranged for  the  Piano-forte,  Harpy 
or  Violin.    Set  6.  Pr.  2s.  —  (Hod- 
soll, High-Holborn.) 
The  Second  Set  of  Psychean  Qua- 
drilles, composed,   and  dedicated 
to  the  Right  Hon.  the  Countess 
Cowpcr,  by  11.  Topliff.   Pr.  3s. — 
(Topliff,  Castle-street,   Holb'orn.) 
In  all  these  the  figures  are  sub- 
joined; those  of  Mr.  Topliff  appear 
to  be  the  most  recherchees ;  and,  in 
point  of  musical  attraction,  this  gen- 
tleman's book  and  that  of  Mr.  Nixon 
are  also  deserving  of  some  attention. 


1  IB 

FINE  ARTS. 


EXHIBITION  IN  WATER-COLOURS. 


The  Society  of  Painters  in  Water- 
Colours  have  re-opened  their  new 
Gallery  in  Pall -Mall  East,  with  a 
splendid  collection  of  drawings  in 
their  exclusive  and  highly  finished  de- 
partment of  the  fine  arts.  Desirous 
of  affording,  to  use  their  own  words, 
"  a  fair  and  diversified  view  of  the 
art  which  they  cultivate,"  they  have 
in  the  present  Exhibition  introduced 
the  works  of  several  persons  who 
have  never  been  connected  with  their 
institution,  and  have  placed  in  one 
view  before  the  British  public  some 
of  the  finest  works  of  their  own  bo- 
dy during  the  first  seventeen  years 
of  their  incorporation,  together  with 
those  of  others  who  have  rendered 
themselves  deservedly  eminent  in  a 
branch  of  art,  which,  by  the  united  la- 
bours of  our  artists,  has  been  brought 
to  unrivalled  perfection  amongst  us. 
The  effect  of  such  an  Exhibition  up- 
on the  taste  of  the  public,  and  more 
particularly  upon  the  youth  of  the 
community,  so  generally  engaged  in 
the  exercise  of  this  delightful  and 
most  beneficial  study,  as  a  mere 
branch  of  education,  cannot  be  too 
highly  appreciated.  "  Nothing,"  said 
Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  "  is  denied  to 
well-directed  industry."  there  is  the 
illustration  of  that  precept  in  the 
progress  of  water-colour  drawing 
from  its  crude  and  earlier  efforts  of 
dry  imitation,  to  that  freedom  of  touch 
and  clearness  of  tint,  which,  in  some 
instances,  rivalling,  and  in  others  ex- 
ceeding, the  powers  and  effect  of 
oil-painting,  establish  a  distinctive 
name  and  character  to  this  interest- 
ing branch  of  art. 

Among  those  illustrious   person- 


ages who  have  contributed  works 
from  their  galleries  to  enrich  this 
collection,  his  Majesty  holds,  as  he 
always  does  in  the  enlightened  pa- 
tronage of  art,  the  highest  place. 
The  King's  gracious  efforts  have 
been  followed  up  by  the  Duke  of 
Argyle,  the  Marquisses  of  Stafford 
and  Hertford,  the  Earls  of  Carlisle, 
Lonsdale,  Essex,  and  Brownlow,  to- 
gether with  a  considerable  number  of 
the  highest  patrons  of  art,  who  have 
evinced  the  utmost  desire  to  promote 
the  object  of  the  society. 

The  greater  part  of  the  drawings 
represent  landscape-scenery;  and  the 
clearness  of  tint  and  transparency  of 
colour  in  many  of  them,  convey  a  re- 
markable fidelity  to  the  local  views. 
The  following  are  among  the  most 
striking  works  in  the  Exhibition: 

TivolL—J.  M.  W.  Turner,  R.  A. 

A  splendid  work  for  colouring  and 
drawing,  for  the  repose  and  richness 
of  Italian  scenery,  in  fact  for  every 
thing  which  constitutes  perfection  in 
this  branch  of  art. 
Tomb  of  Louis  Robsart,  Standard- 

Bearer  to  Henry  V.  Westminster 

Abbey. — F.  Nash. 

A  very  good  architectural  drawing, 
in  a  suitable  solemnity  of  tone,  mi- 
nutely representing  the  Gothic  sculp- 
ture of  this  elaborately  executed  tomb. 
A   North-Country  Fair. — 
L.  Clennell. 

This  drawing  exhibits  a  good  deal 
of  rustic  character,  well  composed, 
and  executed  with  spirit  and  humour. 

Rivaux    Abbey,     Yorkshire.  — 
W.  Westall,  R.  A. 

The  scenery  is  very  beautiful,  and , 
the  colouring  throughout  harmonious. 


EXHIBITION    IN    WATliU-COLOUUS. 


119 


Twilight.— G.  F.  Robson. 
There  is  a  grandeur  and  solemni- 
ty of  effect  in  this  work  which  is 
highly  creditable  to  the  artist;  it  has 
a  repose  which  charms  the  eye,  and 
strikingly  illustrates  the  lines  of  the 
poet : 

44  The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks 

of  day : 
Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace, 
To  gain  the  timely  inn." 

Coast   of   Sussex,   Pushing  off   a 

Boat  to  a  Vessel  in  Distress. — J. 

Cristall. 

This  drawing  is  hung  next  the  pre- 
ceding one,  to  the  style  of  which  it 
is,  from  the  nature  of  the  subject,  a 
complete  contrast.  The  earnest  and 
fixed  expression  and  gesture,  the  re- 
solution and  spirit,  developed  in  the 
portraiture  of  the  two  boatmen  who 
espy  the  vessel  from  the  shore,  and 
appear  to  superintend  the  launching 
of  the  boat  to  assist  her  in  the  storm, 
are  in  the  highest  degree  characteris- 
tic of  our  mariners,  and  their  hardy 
and  perilous  occupation.  This  artist 
has  several  other  drawings  in  this 
collection;  they  are  chiefly  descrip- 
tive of  the  plainness  and  simplicity  of 
rustic  character,  and  are  interesting 
for  the  truth  of  nature  which  attach- 
es to  them.  In  the  Daphne  and 
Apollo  there  is  also  a  good  poetic 
feeling :  the  execution  is  very  clever. 
Near  Lincoln. — P.  Dewint. 

There  is  a  pleasing  clearness  of 
tone  in  this  drawing,  which  reflects 
great  credit  upon  the  artist  He  has 
others  in  the  same  style  in  the  Exhi- 
bition, particularly  the  Stacking  Hay. 
An  Indiaman. — S.  Prout. 

A  fine  depth  of  tone  and  grandeur 

of  effect  distinguish  .this    drawing; 

the  bustle  and  mechanism  of  the 

scene  are  described  with  great  force 

Vol,  II.  No.  VIII. 


and  accuracy.  It  is  altogether  a  fi- 
nished and  most  interesting  work. 
The  Indiaman  Ashore  is  in  an  equal 
tone  of  grand  composition. 

Evening. — G.  Barret. 

A  very  beautiful  drawing:  the 
same  merit  belongs  to  the  drawing 
of  Barnes  Common:  they  are  pure 
and  delicate  representations  of  a 
calm  and  serene  atmosphere. 
The  Michaelmas  Dinner. — 
J.  Holmes. 

This  drawing  is  from  his  Majesty's 
collection,  and  is  a  very  clever  re- 
presentation of  the  dismay  around  a 
family-table,  during  the  desperate  at- 
tempt of  a  novice  to  dissect  that  dish 
which  is  the  horror  of  all  bad  carvers 
— a  goose.  There  is  so  much  of 
real  character  in  the  expression  of 
the  figures,  that  we  feel  no  disposi- 
tion to  cavil  at  a  little  faulty  colour- 
ing. TJie  Spoiled  Dinner  possesses 
the  same  characteristic  merit. 
BrougJiam  Castle,  Westtnoreland.- — 
Copley  Fielding. 

A  clear  and  agreeable  landscape; 
the  distance  well  kept,  and  the  co- 
louring harmonious.  One  of  a  num- 
ber of  good  drawings  by  the  same 
artist  in  this  Exhibition,  the  Sunset, 
is  a  particularly  fine  production. 
A  Plat-School. — T.  Uwins. 

The  expression  of  the  mistress  is 
excellent,  and  the  juvenile  bustle  is 
natural. 

Lincoln. — A.  Pugin. 

A  clear  and  fine  drawing,  and  a 
perfect  style  of  colouring  from  na- 
ture. 

Scene  in  Cumberland. — It.  R. 
Reinagle,  R.  A. 

A  soft  and  agreeable  view,  in  a  ve- 
ry  harmonious   tone   of    colouring. 
Others  equally  good  in  the  room  from 
Mr.  Reinagle's  pencil.     The  Cattle, 
R 


120 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


Afternoon,  is  a  fine  drawing.  The 
Ruins  in  Calabria  also  in  a  high 
class  of  art. 

Boys  disputing  aver    their  Days 
Sport. — T.  Heaphy. 

This  drawing  is  remarkable  for 
the  lively  and  appropriate  expression 
of  the  figures,  which  is  arch  and 
humorous. 

Deer.—R.  Hills. 

A  beautiful  little  drawing  in  Mr. 
Hills'  peculiar  style   of  simple   and 
pleasing  execution.    An  Interior  has 
also  great  merit. 
The  Logicians  Effigy. — H.  Richter. 

A  good  closet  scene,  illustrative  of 
the  disputes  upon  the  old  dogmas  of 
the  schools.  The  features  of  the 
disputants  are  admirably  pourtrayed. 
The  most  intense  logician  that  ever 
gloried  in  controversy  could  not  de- 
sire to  see  his  zeal  and  perseverance 
more  strikingly  recorded.  The  De- 
dication is  also  a  vigorous  effort. 
Moel  Shabod,  North  Wales.— 
J.  Glover. 

This  drawing  is  in  Mr.  Glover's 
best  style:  the  aerial  effect  is  uncom- 
monly finished.  He  is  equally  suc- 
cessful in  other  drawings  which  en- 
rich this  collection. 


Epicures. — J.  Stephanoff. 

"  Fill  the  bowl  with  rosy  wine, 
Around  our  temples  roses  twine  ; 
Let's  banish  bus'ness,  banish  sorrow  : 
To  the  gods  belongs  to-morrow." 

The  artist  has  given  in  this  draw- 
ing those  brilliant  touches  of  colour- 
ing, and  gay  dashes  of  individual  ex- 
pression, which  predominate  in  his 
best  works. 

Chapter-House  of   Christ   Church. 
— Interior  of  New  College  Cha- 
pel, Oxford. — F.  Mackenzie. 
For  effect  and  drawing,  these  are 
fine   examples  of  Mr.   Mackenzie's 
superior  skill  in  the  architectural  de- 
partment of  his  art.  These,  and  seve- 
ral others  by  the  same  artist  in  the 
gallery,  were  made  for  Mr.  Acker- 
mann's  Histories  of  Oxford,  of  Cam- 
bridge, and  of  the  Public  Schools. 

There  are  several  other  works  of 
great  merit  in  this  collection,  which 
we  regret  our  limits  preclude  lis  from 
minutely  particularizing.  Among 
them  are  several  by  Messrs.  Havell, 
Girtin,  Varley,  Cox,  Nash,  Gandy, 
and  other  artists,  whose  taste  and 
professional  talent  have  been  long 
acknowledged  by  the  lovers  of  the 
fine  arts. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


EVENING    DKI'.SS. 

Dress  of  pink  crape,  ornament- 
ed with  silk  spots:  the  corsage  is 
made  plain  and  cut  bias,  and  trim- 
med round  the  bust  with  triple  leaves 
of  watered  gros  de  Naples ;  short 
full  sleeve  of  corded  bands,  inter- 
woven with  similar  leaves.  The  cor- 
sage and  skirt  are  set  in  a  corded 
band,  and  fasten  behind.     The  skirt 


is  trimmed  with  two  rows  of  watered 
gros  de  Naples,  separated  into  regu- 
lar divisions  at  top  and  bottom,  edged 
with  cord,  and  drawn  with  a  little 
fulness  in  the  centre;  a  rouleau  of 
watered  gros  de  Naples  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  dress,  which  is  from  Miss 
Pieipoint.  Ballasteros  hat  of  tulle ; 
the  front  is  turned  up,  and  edged 
with  white   satin  and  narrow  blond, 


EV.E  I 


I 


V 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


121 


and  ornamented  with  two  satin  rou- 
leaus, about  half  an  inch  apart :  on 
the  left  side  the  front  is  cut  open 
and  trimmed,  which  gives  a  light 
and  pretty  effect.  The  crown  has  a 
waved  circular  top,  with  three  satin 
rouleaus  waving  round  it :  on  the  left 
side  is  a  full  plume  of  blue  and 
white  ostrich  feathers,  with  a  small 
plume  of  marabouts.  Necklace,  ear- 
rings, and  bracelets,  of  pink  topaz. 
White  kid  gloves,  and  white  satin 
shoes  sandalled. 


BALL    DRESS. 

Dress  of  blue  tulle:  the  corsage 
round,  and  moderately  high  ;  full  in 
the  back  and  front,  and  confined 
round  the  bosom  with  a  band  of  sa- 
tin folds  and  tulle:  beneath  is  a 
wreath  composed  of  floss  silk,  satin, 
and  blond.  Short  full  sleeve  of  tulle, 
set  in  a  corded  band,  and  ornamented 
with  floss  silk  leaves  of  the  mountain 
ash,  and  triangular  trimmings  of  satin 
edged  with  narrow  blond :  satin  band 
with  corded  edges  round  the  waist: 
the  bow  behind  formed  of  small 
pointed  leaves,  corded  and  edged 
with  blond.  A  wadded  satin  hem 
at  the  bottom  of  the  skirt,  which  is 
made  long,  and  indicates  an  inclina- 
tion of  resuming  the  train,  which 
gives  grace  and  elegance  to  the  fi- 
gure, and  is  particularly  appropriate 
to  full  dress,  except  for  the  ball- 
room. Above  the  hem  is  an  orna- 
mented wave  of  floss  silk,  satin,  and 
tulle,  from  which  a  branch  or  scroll 
rises,  supporting  three  circular  fancy 
flowers.  Brussels  lace  scarf.  The 
hair  is  dressed  a  la  Grecque,  but  or- 
namented with  Milanese  pins  of  gold, 
with  heads  of  imitative  turquoise :  on 
each  side  is  a  ball  of  the  same,  and 
a  second  pending  from  the  left.  Neck- 
lace and  ear-rings  of  turquoise,  set 


in  embossed  gold,  and  fastened  by 
cameo  snaps.  White  kid  gloves, 
trimmed  and  tied  at  the  elbow.  Ivory 
fan,  and  white  satin  shoes. 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS  ON  FASHION 
AND    DRESS. 

Muslin  high  dresses  made  in  the 
pelisse  style,  and  worn  with  a  light 
scarf,  are  now  very  general  in  morn- 
ing dress.  Silk  pelisses,  though  not 
so  predominant,  are  not,  however, 
exploded ;  they  continue  to  be  made 
in  a  plain  style,  and  have  seldom  any 
other  trimming  than  a  cording  of  s'a- 
tin,  or  of  the  material  of  the  pelisse 
round  the  edge.  Leghorn  bonnets 
of  the  cottage  shape,  small  and  close, 
are  most  in  favour  with  those  dresses ; 
but  we  have  seen  on  some  elegantes 
white  cambric  muslin  capotes,  which } 
with  high  dresses  of  the  same  ■  ma- 
terial, have  a  neat  and  appropriate 
effect :  these  capotes  have  no  trim- 
ming, and  are  usually  worn  with  a 
veil. 

Wre  have  remarked  little  variation 
in  carriage  or  promenade  costume : 
one  pelisse,  however,  struck  us  as 
being  novel  and  elegant ;  it  is  com- 
posed of  white  boarre  de  sole  :  the 
trimming  consists  of  a  wreath  of  moss 
roses  entwined  with  myrtle  round 
the  bottom  and  up  the  fronts.  The 
waist  is  the  usual  length ;  the  back 
plain,  and  very  narrow  at  the  bot- 
tom: the  hips  are  ornamented  with 
lozenges  of  wrought  silk.  Tight 
long  sleeve,  finished  at  the  bottom 
by  satin  folds :  the  epaulette  is  a 
mixture  of  satin  and  blond  disposed 
in  the  lozenge  style.  A  double  fall 
of  blond,  with  a  heading  of  the  same 
material,  which  stands  up  round  the 
throat,  supplies  the  place  of  a  collar. 

Among  the  new  carriage  bonnets^ 
we  have  seen  some  composed  of  a 
R  2 


\n 


FUKNCM    FKMALK    FASHIONS. 


mixture  of  blond  not  and  ruban  de 
plumes.  The  crown  is  rather  low ; 
the  brim  small,  rounded  at  the  cor- 
ners, bent  a  little  in  the  middle,  but 
forming  rather  a  scollop  than  a  point. 
The  ribbons  are  disposed  in  bias 
rows,  and  the  blond  laid  full  between. 
The  edge  of  the  brim  is  finished  by 
a  very  light  trimming  of  blond  inter- 
sected with  small  roses,  and  a  bou- 
quet of  intermingled  roses  and  jes- 
samine ornaments  the  crown. 

The  corsage  en  blouse  begins  to 
he  adopted  in  dinner  dress:-  it  is 
made  in  a  manner  very  becoming  to 
the  shape,  having  little  fulness,  and 
that  principally  at  the  bottom  of  the 
waist.  The  upper  part  of  the  bust 
is  embroidered;  and  the  half- sleeve, 
generally  in  the  form  of  a  wing,  con- 
sists also  of  three  rows  of  embroi- 
dery. It  is  almost  needless  to  ob- 
serve, that  it  is  only  muslin  dresses 
that  are  made  in  this  manner.  The 
skirts  are  trimmed  with  either  floun- 
ces, tucks,  or  embroidery.  Gros 
(Tlte,  poplin,  and  white  bareges  are 
as  much  in  favour  as  muslin  for  din- 
ner dress.     Clear  muslin  is  a  good 


deal  worn  for  social  evening  parties, 
trimmed  with  coloured  ribbons.  These 
trimmings  are  either  mosaic,  or  else 
they  consist  of  an  intermixture  of 
ribbon  and  embroidery,  or  the  rib- 
bon is  intermixed  with  flounces  or 
bouillonne,  and  disposed  in  crescents, 
bows,  or  rosettes. 

The  materials  of  full  dress  have 
not  varied  since  last  month.  We 
have  seen  some  full-dress  gowns  of 
tulle  trimmed  with  flowers  and  leaves 
of  white  satin,  intermixed  with  beads : 
the  bodies  of  these  gowns  were  white 
satin,  the  front  richly  embroidered 
in  beads,  and  the  sleeve  an  inter- 
mixture of  white  satin,  beads,  and 
tulle.  Head-dresses  en  cheveux  are 
still  more  prevalent  than  last  month. 
The  hair  is  generally  adorned  with 
flowers,  except  for  those  very  grand 
parties  in  which  our  fair  fashionables 
consider  it  necessary  to  display  their 
jewels. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  rose  co- 
lour, evening  primrose,  apple-blos- 
som, blue,  straw  colour,  and  grass- 
green. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  June  18. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

Our  walking  dress  is  at  pre- 
sent very  light  and  varied.  Cambric 
muslin  robes,  made  something  in  the 
redingote  style,  are  much  in  favour: 
they  are  ornamented  with  a  row  of 
buttons  up  the  front,  and  have  three 
tucks  at  each  side  and  round  the 
bottom  of  the  skirt.  The  long  sleeve 
is  rather  wide ;  it  is  confined  at  the 
wrist  by  a  band  and  button :  a  triple 
pelerine  falls  below  the  shoulders: 
the  collar  is  very  deep,  but  it  falls 
over  in  the  neck,  leaving  the  throat 


bare ;  a  muslin  trimming,  small  plaited, 
finishes  the  collar.  The  ceinture  is 
always  of  muslin,  and  is  fastened  in 
front  with  a  gold  or  steel  buckle. 
This  kind  of  robe  is  usually  worn 
without  any  shawl  or  scarf. 

The  most  fashionable  among  the 
coloured  dresses  are  those  made  of 
the  muslin  called  a  la  lampe  merveil- 
leuse,  from  the  figures  on  the  ground 
resembling  an  antique  lamp.  The 
trimmings  of  these  robes  are  gene- 
rally a  deep  bouillonne.  In  some  in- 
stances they  .are  worn  with  a  spencer 
of  gros  d'ete,  or  velours  simule,  to 


INTELLIGENCE,    L1TK11AUY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C 


123 


correspond  in  colour  with  the  robe. 
The  bust  of  the  spencer  is  orna- 
mented with  bands  placed  in  the 
demi-lozenge  style;  it  fastens  be- 
hind, and  has  no  collar,  but  is  worn 
with  a  falling  one  of  embroidered 
net  or  muslin. 

The  blouse  is  fashionable  both  in 
white  and  coloured  muslin;  but  in 
the  latter  the  robe  blouse  is  more 
worn  :  it  is  trimmed  with  three  rows 
of  coques  round  the  bottom  of  the 
skirt.  The  sleeve  is  tight,  and  fi- 
nished at  the  hand  by  a  row  of 
cofjues,and  the  epaulette  corresponds. 
Light  bartge  scarfs,  lace  pelerines, 
and  lace  scarfs  continue  to  be  the 
fashionable  envelopes. 

Leghorn,  gauze,  crape,  cotton- 
straw,  rice-straw,  various  kinds  of 
transparent  gauze,  and  sport erie,  are 
the  materials  for  bonnets.  Sparterie 
is  a  kind  of  willow,  which,  though  it 
has  been  used  for  some  seasons  past, 
has  not  till  now  been  considered  as 
very  fashionable.  The  newest  style 
of  trimming  for  chapeaux  is  a  co- 
carde  en  ailes  de  moulin:  it  consists 
of  four  bows ;  if  the  chapeau  is  of 
sparterie,  the  cockade  is  of  the  same 
material,  or  of  gauze  bordered  with 
straw-plait,  or  else  of  satin  of  two 
colours. 

Many  hats  are  trimmed  only  with 
white  gauze  puffed  across  the  crown, 
and  disposed  in  a  large  knot  in  front. 
Feathers  are  very  little  used,  but 
flowers  are  still  very  fashionable ;  not, 
however,  so  much  so  as  the  cocardes 
en  ailes  de  moulin. 


Dinner  dress,  and  even  full  dress, 
is  at  present  chiefly  distinguished  by 
its  simplicity :  muslin  is  predominant 
in  both ;  and  the  blouse  is  also  more 
in  favour  than  any  other  kind  of  robe. 
Clear  muslin  blouses,  embroidered  in 
worsted,  are  worn  by  our  most  dis- 
tinguished elegantes:  there  is  usually 
a  mixture  of  two  colours  in  the  trim- 
ming, as  rose  and  green,  lilac  and 
green,  and  citron  and  green:  the 
ceinture  is  a  broad  ribbon  to  corre- 
spond with  the  dress.  The  blouses 
of  some  fashionables  are  embroidered 
in  deep  blue,  without  any  mixture  of 
any  other  colour,  and  this  is  called 
the  English  style. 

If  the  dress  is  not  muslin,  it  is  ei- 
ther white  bareges  or  gros  dete, 
trimmed  with  small  rouleaus  of  satin 
disposed  in  lozenges  or  serpentine 
wreaths,  or  else  blond  flounces  head- 
ed with  large  rouleaus  of  satin. — A 
considerable  alteration  has  taken 
place  in  the  manner  of  dressing  the 
hair:  the  thick  heavy  curls  which 
nearly  covered  the  forehead  have 
given  place  to  light  ringlets,  that  fall 
low  on  the  temples,  and  are  suffici- 
ently parted  in  front  to  display  the 
beauty  of  the  forehead  and  eyebrows. 
The  hind  hair  is  partly  braided  round 
the  head,  and  partly  fastened  up  in 
a  large  knot  behind. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  deep  rose 
colour,  violet,  reseda,  azure,  slate 
colour,  citron,  and  grey.  Adieu, 
dear  Sophia !  Always  your 

Eudocia. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


We  announced  in  our  last  Number 
that  Mr.  Sharp  is  engaged  upon  a  por- 
trait of  the  late  Dr.  Jenner,  which  will 
be  the  last  performance  of  that  eminent 


engraver.  The  King  has  been  gracious- 
ly pleased  to  honour  the  work  by  permit- 
ting it  to  be  dedicated  to  his  Majesty. 
The  size  of  the  print  will  be  I6i  inches 


\U 


IXTKI.LIGKM  K,    UTKHARY,    SCIENTIFIC,    &(\ 


by  13i ;  and  it  will  be  ready  for  delivery 
to  subscribers  early  in  1 82  k  The  bene- 
fit conferred  by  Dr.  Jenner's  discovery  is 
not  confined  to  any  particular  nation,  but 
extends  to  every  region  of  the  globe.  It 
is  expected  that  the  demand  for  this  me- 
morial of  the  deceased  philanthropist  will 
be  commensurate  with  the  respect  and 
gratitude  universally  felt  for  him  in  every 
country  to  which  the  knowledge  of  vac- 
cination has  spread  ;  and  it  would  there- 
fore be  advisable  for  those  who  wish  to 
secure  fine  impressions,  to  transmit  their 
names  as  speedily  as  possible  to  the  pub- 
fisher. 

The  next  portion  of  The  World  in  Mi- 
niature will  contain  Japan,  in  one  volume, 
with  twenty  engravings,  which  will  ap- 
pear on  the  1st  of  September. 

Mr.  J.ulius  Klaproth,  a  gentleman  dis- 
tinguished for  his  acquaintance  with  the 
Chinese  language  and  literature,  is  pre- 
paring for  publication,  in-  two  4to.  vo- 
lumes, A  Geographical,  Statistical,  and 
Historical  Description  of  China  and  its 
Dependencies.  The  author  accompanied 
the  Russian  embassy  destined  for  Pekin 
in  1805  and  6,  when  he  collected  amass 
of  interesting  materials  relative  to  China, 
including  a  considerable  collection  of 
Chinese  books,  among  which  was  the 
General  Description  of  the  Empire,  pub- 
lished under  the  imperial  authority.  He 
will  be  careful  to  exclude  from  his  work 
every  thing  not  derived  from  an  authen- 
tic source,  and  in  the  execution  he  intends 
to  follow  as  his  model,  the  excellent  De- 
scription of  India  by  Mr.  Hamilton. 

A  globe  on  a  new  principle,  which  par- 
ticularly recommends  itself  for  the  pur- 
pose of  instruction,  has  recently  been 
constructed  by  Mr.  C.  W.  Kummer  of 
Berlin.  It  is  called  a  Projecting  Globe, 
because  the  land  is  represented  in  a  re- 
lievo, more  or  less  high,  according  to  the 
natural  elevation  of  the  different  coun- 
tries. The  waters  are  also  distinguish- 
ed from  the  land  by  their  colour ;  and 
sands,  forests,  morasses,  glaciers,  the  po- 
lar ices,  and  other  varieties  in  the  solid  | 


parts  of  the  globe,  are  denoted  in  a  si- 
milar manner.  These  projecting  globes 
are  made  of  two  sizes,  1G  inches  and  26 
inches  in  diameter.  They  are  of  differ- 
ent prices,  according  as  they  have  the 
names  marked  upon  them  or  not;  and 
may  be  inspected  at  Mr.  Ackermann's 
Repository  of  Arts,  Strand. 

To  the  numerous  charitable  institutions 
of  the  British  metropolis,  has  recently 
been  added  an  Asylum  for  the  Cure  of 
Scrofula  and  Glandular  Diseases,  on  the 
medical  principles  of  Mr.  Charles  Whit- 
law,  at  Bayswater  Terrace.  Agreeably 
to  the  rules  adopted  for  this  institution, 
only  female  patients,  or  children  under 
eight  years  of  age,  are  yet  admitted,  each 
paying  a  very  moderate  sum  for  board 
during  their  residence  in  the  house.  The 
first  quarterly  report  of  the  committee 
states,  that  from  the  opening  of  the  Asy- 
lum eight  patients  had  been  admitted ; 
that  two  of  these  had  been  cured,  and 
five  were  greatly  improved.  Two  others 
have  since  been  dismissed  cured.  As 
soon  as  the  funds  of  the  institution  per- 
mit, it  is  the  intention  of  the  committee 
to  extend  its  benefits  to  a  greater  number 
of  patients. 

A  discovery  that  will  be  welcomed  by 
the  admirers  of  the  beautiful  art  of  litho- 
graphy has  just  been  made  by  Mr.  Hul- 
mandcl;  a  name  already  honourably  as-, 
sociated  with  the  history  of  this  style  of 
art.  It  consists  in  a  new  process  of  fix- 
ing the  drawing,  by  which  a  far  greater 
brilliancy  and  distinctness  in  the  printing 
is  obtained,  and,  at  the  same  time,  nearly 
double  the  number  of  good  impressions. 
The  public  will  have  an  opportunity  of 
judging  of  the  advantage  of  this  discove- 
ry from  a  Vieivof  Edinburgh  from  Queens- 
ferry-road,  contained  in  the  first  num- 
ber of  a  series  of  Picturesque  Views  of 
that  city,  just  published  ;  as  well  as  from 
the  new  number  of  Major  Cockburn's 
views  of  the  Valley  of  Ansta,  in  Pied- 
mont, the  most  beautiful  of  the  entrances 
into  Italy. 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  37$,  Straw}. 


THE 


Beposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  §c. 


THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


September  1,  1823. 


N°  IX. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 

View  of  Tatton-Halt,,  Cheshire 


Bury-Hill,  Surrey 


3.  Ladies'  Morning  Dress 
4t  „ Evening  Dress 


A  State  Bed 
Muslin  Patterns. 


125 
126 
181 


185 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Views  of  Country  Seats. — Tatton-Hall, 

Cheshire,  the  Seat  of  W.  Egerton,  Esq.  125 
Bury-Hill,  Surrey,   the  Seat  of  Robert 

Barclay,  Esq 126 

Third  Letter  from  Reginald  Filterhrain 

of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq 128 

Ghost  Stories.  No.  1. — The  Three  Bro- 
thers (concluded) 129 

Some  Particulars  of  the  late  Rev.  James 

Lambert 134 

Prospectus  of  a  New  Institution  for  the 

Formation  of  Wives 135 

Adventures  of  a  Serjeant's  Wife  during 

the  Peninsular  War 140 

A  Tour  round  my  Parlour 142 

Address  to  the  Rhine.  From  the  German 

of  Theodore  Koiiner 148 

The  Castle  and  the  Farm,  or  the  Foster- 
Brothers:   A  Tale  (continued)     .     .     .149 
The  Confessions  of  a  Rambler.  No.  I.    .  154 
The   Beggar-Woman   of    the    Chaussee 

d'Antin 156 

Good  Behaviour 160 

The  Wife  of  a  Genius  (continued)      .     .164 

The  Universal  Passion 167 

Abbey  Ruins,  by  Moonlight  .  .  .  .169 
Anecdotes,  &c.  Historical,  Literary, 
and  Personal — Anecdote  of  a  Paw- 
nee Indian — The  Valour  of  Humanity 
— White  Elephants  —  Reformation — 
Voluntary  Suspension  of  Animation  — 


The  American  Mocking-Bird— -Maga- 
zines       ]70 

History  of  Hurtado  and  Miranda      .     .    174 
Portrait  of  an  Old  Maid 176 

MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Hummel's  Mozart's  Six  Grand  Sympho- 
nies      177 

Wensley's  Four  Songs 178 

Hamond's  Juvenile  Songs.     No.  I.       .     .  180 

Webbe's  "The  Winter  Rose"    ...      .  ib. 

Vocal  Anthology,  or  the  Flowers  of  Song  ib. 
Wf.ebe's   Introduction    and    Triumphal 

March 181 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashion*.  — ■  Ladies'  Morning 
Dress ib. 

F.vening  Dress ib. 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress 182 

French  Female  Fashions        183 

Fashionable   Furniture. — A  State  Bed  .    185 

INTELLIGENCE, 

LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC         .     .     ib. 

POETRY. 

Lines  written  in  a  Lady's  Album  above 
a  Painting  of  a  Jay's  Feather    .     .     .    186 

To  H.  II.  on  the  twentieth  Anniversary 
of  her  Birthday,  with  "  The  Wreath," 
a  Volume  of  Poems ib. 


Printed  bv  L.  Harrison,  .'57:i,  Si  rand. 


TO  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Co?nposers,  are  requested  to  transmit 
on  or  before  the  \5th  of  the  month,  Announcements  of  Works  which  they  may  have  on 
hand,  and  ive  shall  cheerfully  insert  them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense. 
New  Musical  Publications  also,  if  a  cojiy  be  addressed  to  the  Publisher,  shall  be  duly 
noticed  in  our  Review;  and  Extracts  from  new  Books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an 
interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our  Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

The  Scraps  from  a  Gleaner's  Budget  are  rather  too  stale  to  be  set  before  the 
readers  of  the  Repository. 

The  Rambler  will  infer  from  our  present  Number  that  his  communications  shall 
experience  due  attention. 

We  can  assure  Rosabella  that  no  such  paper  as  she  describes  has  ever  reached  our 
hands. 

An  Impatient  Inquirer  is  informed  that  the  article  in  question  will  be  concluded 
in  our  next  Number. 

We  acknowledge  the  receipt  of  various  communications  from  B.  G.  and  Valeria — 
some  of  which,  as  also  the  History  of  a  Coquette  and  the  continuation  of  the  Debates 
of  the  French  Female  Parliament,  shall  appear  in  our  next  publication. 


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THE 


&ep0ttorp 


ov 


ARTS,  LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  fyc. 


THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


September  1,  1823. 


N°-  IX. 


VIEWS  OF  COUNTRY-SEATS. 

TATTON-HALL,   THE    SEAT   OF   W.  EGERTON,  ESQ. 


Tatton  is  situated  about  one  mile 
and  a  half  from  Knutsford,  in  the 
hundred  of  Bucklow,  Cheshire.  Im- 
mediately on  leaving  Knutsford,  one 
of  the  grand  entrances  to  the  park 
presents  itself,  combined  with  a  neat 
lodge :  it  forms  a  handsome  approach 
to  a  very  beautiful  and  extensive  do- 
main. The  principal  drive  to  the 
house  winds  round  by  a  fine  sheet  of 
water,  or  rather  lake,  called  Tatton 
Mere*,  on  the  one  side;  while  on 

*  In  various  parts  of  Cheshire  there 
are  many  of  these  meres  or  lakes.  The 
principal  are  in  Bucklow  hundred .  Most 
of  them  are  well  stocked  with  fish,  and 
are  of  considerable  depth,  as  Tatton 
Mere,  Budworth  Mere,  and  Rosthern 
Mere.  There  are  some  in  Delamere 
Forest.  In  Namptwich  hundred  is  Com- 
ber Mere ;  and  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Malpas  is  one  named  Bar  Mere. 
Vol.  II.  No.  IX. 


the  other,  the  grounds  swell  gently 
to  a  noble  wood  of  beech,  through 
which  lay  the  old  carriage-drive  to 
the  mansion.  Though  now  neglect- 
ed as  a  road,  and  thinned  of  nearly 
all  the  firs  that  once  graced  the  line, 
it  still  forms  a  beautiful  feature,  from 
the  extreme  luxuriance  and  fine  con- 
tours of  the  beech. 

The  house,  as  shewn  in  our  en- 
graving, is  adorned  with  a  very  ele- 
gant portico :  it  was  built  after  a  de- 
sign by  Wyatt,  and  the  whole  is  in 
the  present  taste  of  elegant  simpli- 
city. The  interior  is  well  arranged 
and  commodious ;  the  principal  suite 
of  apartments  are  of  a  noble  size, 
and  fitted  up  with  great  taste.  The 
domestic  offices  are  planned  so  as 
not  to  appear  a  part  of  the  main 
building,  that  the  simplicity  and  ele- 
gance which  pervade  the  whole  may 
S 


lid 


BUKY-HlLi. 


be  preserved.  The  stables  are  ad- 
mirably arranged,  and  in  unison  with 
the  style  of  the  house:  they  are  also 
after  designs  by  Wyatt.  The  gar- 
dens are  on  a  grand  scale,  and  kept 
in  the  highest  order,  as  well  as  the 
pinery,  which  is  admirably  construct- 
ed, and  remarkable  for  its  size.  The 
grounds  about  the  house  are  pleas- 
ing, and  planted  with  great  judgment. 
From  the  elevated  situation  of  the 
mansion,  the  views  from  the  princi- 
pal apartments  are  varied  and  beau- 
tiful. The  eye  gradually  sweeps 
down  the  lawn,  and  embraces  Tatton 
Mere,  which,  with  its  reflection  of 
woods  and  sky,  tends  considerably 
to  enrich  a  wide  extent  of  woodland 
scenery,  and  the  interesting  objects 
that  present  themselves  beyond.  The 
whole  is  bounded  by  Alderly-Edge  ; 
and  in  the  distance  are  seen  the  ex- 
treme hills  of  Cheshire,  which  divide 


that  county  from  those  contiguous. 
Among  this  range  of  hills,  the  bold 
termination  of  Cloud,  near  Congle- 
ton,  has  a  fine  appearance.  The 
noble  old  avenue  of  beech  already 
mentioned,  that  stretches  along  the 
side  of  the  hill,  forming  in  itself  a 
beautiful  vista,  and  commanding  many 
a  sweet  scene  in  the  vale  beneath, 
with  the  distant  sombre  overhanging 
forest,  ought  not  to  be  omitted. — 
This  fine  park  contains  in  arable  and 
pasture  lands  twenty-five  thousand 
acres,  around  which  the  present  pro- 
prietor intends  carrying  a  wall  of 
masonry,  a  portion  of  which  is  actu- 
ally completed.  Any  person  who 
may  wish  to  walk  or  ride  in  this  fine 
domain,  on  ringing  the  bell  at  the 
lodge,  is  freely  admitted.  The  park 
abounds  in  deer,  which  are  remark- 
able for  their  size. 


BURY-HILL, 

THK    SEAT   OF    UOBEKT    BARCLAY,    KSQ. 


This  charming  place,  situated  near 
Dorking  in  Surrey,  owes  its  ori- 
gin to  Edward  Walter,  Esq.  heir  of 
Peter  Walter,  a  Dorsetshire  gentle- 
man, who,  passing  through  the 
country,  was  so  delighted  with  the 
situation,  that  he  became  the  pur- 
chaser of  a  farm  called  Chardhurst, 
and  some  other  lands  connected  with 
it,  making  the  farm  his  residence 
while  he  was  building  the  mansion. 
Here  we  find  he  was  married  by  spe- 
cial licence  to  Harriet,  youngest 
daughter  of  George  Lord  Forrester. 
On  the  completion  of  Bury-Hill,  he 
removed  his  residence  to  this  man- 
sion, which  he  occupied  till  his  death 
in  1780,  when  he  left  the  property 
to  his  daughter,  who,  in  1774,  was 
married  to  Viscount  Grimston,  cre- 


ated a  peer  of  Great  Britain  in  1 790, 
by  the  title  of  Baron  Verulam. — ■ 
The  estate  descended  to  his  son, 
James  Walter  Grimston,  the  present 
Lord  Verulam,  of  whom  it  was  pur- 
chased by  Robert  Barclay,  Esq.  the 
present  proprietor,  who  has  made  it 
his  residence  since  1805. 

The  house  is  stuccoed,  and  has 
been  considerably  improved  by  the 
present  proprietor.  Simplicity,  with 
comfort  and  elegance,  pervades  the  in- 
door arrangements.  Comfort  seems 
to  have  directed  the  attention  of  the 
architect  in  the  distribution  and  size 
of  the  apartments,  as  well  as  a  re- 
gard to  neatness  and  beauty.  The 
absence  of  all  ornamental  display  is 
compensated  by  good  taste,  which 
reigns  throughout  the  mansion. 


BUKY-HILL. 


127 


The  house  is  approached  by  a 
pleasing  carriage-road, overhung  with 
trees.  It  extends  along  the  side  of 
a  hill,  and  commands  many  sweet 
views  over  the  hamlets  of  Westcott 
and  Milton,  and  at  a  short  distance, 
the  town  of  Dorking,  backed  by  its 
neighbouring  beautiful  hills.  The 
eminence  on  the  north  side  of  the 
house  is  covered  with  fine  Scotch 
iirs.  It  was,  till  inclosed  by  Mr. 
Walter,  a  portion  of  the  waste  of 
Milton  manor.  The  Nower,  a  hill 
to  the  east  of  this  plantation,  also  be- 
longs to  this  estate.  From  the  sum- 
mer-house that  crowns  the  Nower, 
the  views  are  extensive,  and  beauti- 
fully diversified  with  wood,  hill,  and 
valley.  Looking  over  the  house,  the 
view  embraces  Anstiebury,  with  its 
rich  and  variegated  expanse  of  fo- 
rest-scenery. The  descent  from  the 
hill  towards  the  house  through  the 
shrubbery  leads  to  a  charming  ter- 
race-walk, from  which  a  sloping  lawn 
extends  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  is  continued  in  front  to  the  edge 
of  a  fine  sheet  of  water.  The  water 
is  so  well  arranged  as  to  have  every 
appearance  of  a  considerable  river. 
The  small  island  in  the  centre  is  de- 
lightfully clothed  with  a  great  variety 
of  shrubs  and  trees,  forming  a  pleas- 
ing feature  from  all  points  of  view. 

Near  this  spot  our  view  of  this 
charming  residence  was  taken,  shew- 
ing, with  the  mansion,  a  specimen  of 
the  many  beauties  for  which  this  do- 
main is  justly  celebrated.  Here  is  a 
succession  of  delightful  slopes,  with 
winding  walks  through  spots  of  ro- 
mantic wildness  to  the  fir -capped 
hills.  While  some  parts  present  the 
rude  forest  view,  where  the  aged  oak 
and  beech  throw  broad  and  deep 
shadows  around,  others  are  enlivened 
by  flowers  tastefully  arranged  in  bor- 


ders along  the  walks,  whence  a  de- 
lightful open  country  presents  itself, 
affording  views  of  the  most  enchant- 
ing sweetness.  The  lodges  are  in 
keeping  with  the  surrounding  natu- 
ral beauties :  they  possess  nothing 
particular  in  themselves,  but  add  con- 
siderably, by  their  simplicity,  to  the 
charm  of  the  whole.  Several  pretty 
cottages,  elegant  from  their  simpli- 
city, extend  along  the  borders  of  the 
domain:  one  is  formed  into  a  school- 
room, which  is  supported  at  the  pri- 
vate expense  of  the  Misses  Barclay, 
who  attentively  devote  a  portion  of 
their  time  to  the  welfare  of  their  ju- 
venile establishment.  In  fact,  the 
moving  principle  of  the  family  circle 
at  Bury -Hill  is  pure  philanthropy 
and  benevolence.  The  same  spirit 
of  beneficence  which  has  guided  the 
exertions  of  Mr.  Barclay  for  the  pub- 
lic good  pervades  each  member  of 
his  family  on  ail  occasions. 

Mr.  Barclay  is  a  lineal  descendant 
of  Robert  Barclay,  the  celebrated 
apologist  for  the  Quakers*.  He  has 
been  long  known  as  a  strenuous  sup- 
porter of  the  best  and  dearest  inter- 
ests of  the  public.  While  the  farmers 
of  Surrey  will  do  justice  to  his  prac- 
tical talents  in  farming,  they  will  also 
honour  his  exertions  for  their  inter- 
ests, and  his  generosity  in  their  sup- 
port; independently  of  which,  the 
whole  of  his  experimental  knowledge 

*  A  son  of  this  eminent  Quaker,  Mr. 
i  David  Barclay,  merchant  of  London,  had 
the  singular  honour  of  receiving  at  his 
house  in  Cheapside  three  successive  kings, 
George  I.  II.  and  III.  when  at  their  ac- 
cession they  favoured  the  city  with  their 
presence.  It  was  from  his  windows  that 
they  witnessed  the  procession,  previous- 
ly to  their  dining  with  the  lord  mayor  and 
corporation  at  Guildhall  on  Lord  May- 
or's-day. 

s  % 


128 


LETTERS    FROM    REGINALD    FILTERBRAIN,    ESQ. 


is  devoted  to  their  aid.  The  exten- 
sive and  well  -  arranged  gardens, 
abounding  in  choice  plants  and  exo- 


tics, attest  the  knowledge  in  botany 
possessed  by  this  highly  gifted  gen- 
tleman. 


LETTERS  FROM  REGINALD  FILTERBRAIN, 

Of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq. 

Letter  III. 

u  Lay  on,  Macduff." 

Macbeth. 

I've  had  an  adventure  on  which  I  ne'er  reckon'd, 
And,  I  candidly  own,  I've  no  wish  for  a  second; 
Though  'twas  not  of  the  kind  which  exists  in  the  fancies 
Of  grave  writers  of  plays,  melodrames,  and  romances. 
You  must  know,  that  this  morning,  while  strolling  along 
Through  a  field  near  the  road,  humming  over  a  song, 
My  eye  glanc'd  through  the  hedge,  and,  behold !  I  espied 
My  host's  daughter,  Phoebe,  and  close  at  her  side 
A  raw-fisted  blade  of  six  feet,  though  I  own 
The  fellow  was  pretty  well  drest  for  a  clown. 
"  A  love-lesson,"  thought  I,  "  should  a  novice  desire  it; 
Though  if  this  be  your  taste,  miss,  I  don't  much  admire  it." 
Twas  not  long  ere  I  found  that  she  wish'd  at  Old  Scratch 
The  ill-manner'd  brute,  who  attempted  to  catch, 
With  his  huge  clumsy  arm,  round  her  delicate  waist. 
The  lady  scream'd  out,  and  with  no  little  haste 
I  dash'd  through  the  hedge,  and  before  him  I  stood, 
Roaring  out  (for  resentment  had  heated  my  blood), 
"  Hence,  coward  and  slave !  or  I  swear  by  this  hand 
I  will  smite  you  to  earth  on  the  spot  where  you  stand!" 
He  answer'd  my  high-sounding  words  with  a  blow, 
Which,  if  not  warded  off,  had  too  sure  laid  me  low. 
You  remember  that  both  of  us  once  used  to  handle 
The  gloves,  sub  auspicio  Johannis  Randall  : 
So  I  came  to  the  scratch,  though  I  liked  not  the  sport, 
And  my  principal  aim  was  to  render  it  short. 
He  seem'd  on  his  strength  to  place  all  his  reliance, 
And  struck  right  and  left  without  judgment  or  science. 
I,  more  anxious  to  ward  off  a  blow  than  to  deal  one, 
Till  I  spied  out  a  place  where  I  thought  he  would  feel  one, 
Let  him  hammer  away,  taking  care  to  oppose 
Just  what  part  I  pleas'd  to  the  brunt  of  his  blows ; 
Till  at  length,  with  a  facer  that  made  his  teeth  rattle, 
IJloor'd  him,  and  that  put  an  end  to  the  battle : 
For  he  pick'd  himself  up,  and  exclaiming  "  I  yield," 
Having  had  quite  enough,  thus  abandon'd  the  field. 
My  next  care  was  the  lady,  the  cause  of  the  fray, 
Who  was  stretch'd  on  a  bank,  having  fainted  away ; 
A  spectacle  which  threw  me  in  great  consternation, 
Having  ne'er  before  been  in  the  like  situation ; 


THE   THREE   BROTHERS. 

And  in  grief  I  exclaim'tl,  as  I  wrung  my  hands  over  her, 

"  Oh!  what  in  the  world  shall  I  do  to  recover  her?" 

But  chance  opportunely  my  purpose  befriended : 

From  a  chain  round  her  neck  a  scent-bottle  depended, 

Which  I  held  to  her  nose,  tho'  with  hand  most  unsteady, 

Imploringly  crying,  "Sniff,  sniff,  my  dear  lady!" 

Bat  espying  a  brook,  I  soon  fill'd  my  best  beaver, 

And  bathed  her  pale  cheeks,  thinking  that  would  relieve  her  ; 

A  method,  if  used  to  some  cheeks,  by  the  way, 

'Stead  of  bringing  the  roses,  had  wash'd  them  away. 

I  succeeded  at  last:  from  her  bosom's  profound 

She  heav'd  a  long  sigh  (one  of  four  to  the  pound), 

And  at  length,  to  my  infinite  joy,  she  reviv'd: 

At  which  critical  time  a  detachment  arrived 

From  head-quarters— her  brother,  and  with  him  a  friend, 

Who  had  view'd  the  whole  scene  from  beginning  to  end, 

And,  in  no  slight  emotion,  had  run  to  the  fray  ; 

Though  they  could  not  help  laying  a  bet  by  the  way 

On  the  fate  of  the  battle— 'twas  "  Country  'gainst  Town," 

And  my  friend  lost  a  wager  by  backing  the  clown. 

I  had  thanks  from  all  sides,  you  may  judge,  in  profusion, 
And  recovering  soon  from  the  recent  confusion, 
I  deem'd  it  but  right,  for  my  own  satisfaction, 
To  examine  the  state  of  the  ship  after  action. 
I  found,  as  I  tore  through  the  hedge,  in  the  scramble, 
I'd  left  one  of  my  coat-flaps  in  care  of  a  bramble, 
Who  detain'd  it  in  pledge  for  her  prickles,  some  score, 
Which  bestudded  my  ill-fated  person  all  o'er. 
But  my  fears  for  the  maid  chased  the  thoughts  of  my  woe, 
For  her  cheeks  still  betray'd  she  was  not  commc  il  faut, 
But  reduced  by  alarm  to  so  weak  a  condition, 
That  we  carried  her  home  with  no  small  expedition, 
Where,  as  soon  as  arrived,  as  if  freed  from  restraint, 
She  indulg'd  in  a  slight  supplementary  faint. 
I,  resigning  my  charge  to  the  care  of  her  sister, 
As  more  fit  than  myself  in  that  case  to  assist  her, 
Retired  to  my  chamber,  I  could  not  do  better, 
To  refit  after  action,  and  scribble  this  letter. 

W.  H.  H. 


129 


GHOST    STORIES.  —  No.I. 

THE   THREE    BROTHERS. 
(Concluded  from  p.  87.) 


Some  time  elapsed  before  our  he- 
ro regained  sufficient  possession  of 
his  faculties  to  take  notice  of  any 
surrounding  object,  and  he  felt  some- 


what astonished  on  his  recovery  to 
find  himself  stretched  on  a  bed  in  a 
neighbouring  inn.  An  extreme  de- 
bility, and  a  bandage  round  his  arm, 


130 


THE    THKJKK    HllOTIIi;ji5. 


gave  him  reason  to  believe  that  he 
had  lost  blood  during  his  state  of  in- 
sensibility; but  he  felt  consoled  by 
the  presence  of  M.  de  Vallery,  who 
stood  at  the  bedside.  To  his  repeat- 
ed and  unconnected  inquiries  re- 
specting the  death  of  his  brother, 
that  gentleman  returned  but  evasive 
answers,  apparently  in  the  desire  of 
not  farther  agitating  his  nerves.  'Twas 
of  little  use,  question  followed  ques- 
tion, till  M.  de  V.  conceiving  that 
his  patient  had  regained  sufficient 
strength,  proposed,  by  way  of  chang- 
ing the  scene,  their  return  in  his  ca- 
briolet to  St.  Malo.  On  the  road 
Hyacinthe  dwelt  with  a  melancholy 
pleasure  on  every  particular  relative 
to  his  interviews  with  his  brother's 
spirit  on  that  and  the  preceding  day; 
and  while  passing  the  theatre  of  the 
recent  conflict,  it  required  all  M.  de 
Vallery's  efforts  to  prevent  him  from 
alighting  and  remaining  on  the  spot. 
Half  an  hour's  drive  brought  them 
to  the  door  of  their  hotel  at  St.  Ma- 
lo, where  a  beautiful  little  Creole, 
about  eight  years  old,  attended  by 
her  bonne,  or  nurse,  immediately  re- 
cognised M.  de  Vallery,  and  held  out 
her  hands  to  embrace  him.  "  Ah! 
la  pauvre  petite  /"  exclaimed  Hya- 
cinthe, whose  imagination  immediate- 
ly recognised  her  as  the  child  of  his 
brother's  adoption;  "  we  must  be 
better  acquainted;  you  must  con- 
sole me  for  the  loss  of  my  brother." 
A  look  of  displeasure  appeared  on 
the  brow  of  the  merchant,  as  he  was 
forced  to  acknowledge  that  Hya- 
cinthe's  presentiment  was  well  found- 
ed. The  soldier  clasped  her  in  his 
arms,  and  his  feelings  were  almost  o- 
vercome,  when  she  exclaimed,  "  How 
like  you  are  to  my  poor  papa !" — With 
tears  in  his  eyes,  he  carried  her  into 
the  salon,  where  they  found  Mathieu 


ertiwliiis  and  cursing  at  his  want  of 
punctuality,  as  the  dinner  which  he 
had  ordered,  to  do  honour  to  M. 
de  Vallery's  liberality,  had  been  rea- 
dy a  full  hour.  "  See,  I  have  brought 
you  another  guest!"  said  Hyacinthe, 
setting  his  little  charge  on  her  feet. 
"  Don't  you  think  'tis  a  pretty 
child?" — "  By  your  tears,  I  think 
there  are  two  of  you,"  retorted  Ma- 
thieu sneeringly.  "  What  little  ur- 
chin is  it?  and  where  did  you  get 
that  honourable  scar  over  your  left 
eye  ?  I  suppose  in  some  broil,  where 
you  came  off  with  the  child  and  the 
wound  for  your  pains." — "  'Tis  the 
adopted  child  of  poor  Adolphe." — 
"  Humph !"  groaned  the  other,  eying 
her  with  any  feeling  but  pleasure. 
Farther  remarks  were,  however,  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  dinner, 
to  which  the  brothers  and  the  little 
Creole  immediately  sat  down.  Ma- 
thieu scarcely  uttered  a  word,  and 
Hyacinthe,  who  had  little  appetite 
after  his  morning's  rencontre,  was 
wholly  occupied  in  attending  to  his 
little  protegee :  few  words  were 
therefore  wasted  during  the  repast, 
and  Hyacinthe  forbore,  till  after  din- 
ner, to  question  the  child  as  to  the 
circumstances  of  his  brother's  death. 
To  this  inquiry  Mathieu  made  no  op- 
position, and  the  little  mourner  gave 
her  information  as  well  as  the  tears, 
which  the  subject  had  recalled,  would 
permit.  From  her  tale  it  appeared, 
that  their  brother  and  his  favourite 
were  standing  one  afternoon  at  the 
ship's  side,  when  the  child  espied  an 
object  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
to  which  she  called  the  attention  of 
her  papa,  who,  being  unable  to  tell 
her  its  nature,  fetched  a  strong  cord 
and  hook,  with  which  he  had  been 
fishing  for  sharks  in  the  morning, 
and  throwing  it  over,  tried  to  hook 


THE    THREE    RROTIIF.RS. 


1.31 


the  subject  in  question.  In  one  of 
these  attempts  he  overbalanced  him- 
self, fell  overboard,  and  was  never 
afterwards  seen. 

This  disastrous  tale  was  scarcely 
concluded,  when  M.  de  Vallery  was 
again  introduced.  She  affectionately 
embraced  him.  "  Make  your  adieus 
to  these  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  for 
your  nurse  waits  for  you  below." — 
"  With  your  permission,"  replied 
Hyacinthe,  "  she  remains  with  me." 
— "  Gentlemen,  I  come  on  business." 
— "  Send  her  down  directly  then," 
cried  Mathieu.  The  brother,  how- 
ever, would  not  part  with  his  little 
darling ;  and  it  was  agreed,  after  some 
discussion,  that  she  should  amuse 
herself  in  a  remote  corner  of  the 
same  room,  while  Hyacinthe  attend- 
ed to  business:  before  sitting  down, 
however,  he  emptied  for  her  gratifi- 
cation the  contents  of  one  of  his  side 
pockets;  to  wit,  a  corkscrew,  pen- 
knife, toothpick-case,  small  coin,  and 
a  variety  of  other  little  necessaries. 
The  man  of  business  then  began: 
"  Gentlemen,  I  now  can  give  you 
some  farther  information  regarding 
the  property  of  your  deceased  bro- 
ther. Papers,  which  I  discovered 
only  this  morning,  have  materially 
altered  the  settlement  of  his  effects." 
— "  Comment  fa  ?"  interrupted  Ma- 
thieu eagerly. — "  Yes,  sir,  I  have 
fallen  upon  a  certificate  of  the  mar- 
riage of  your  brother,  a  circumstance 
of  which,  I  must  confess,  I  was  not 
previously  aware."  The  impatience 
of  Mathieu  here  formed  a  striking 
contrast  to  the  inattention  of  his  bro- 
ther, who  was  continually  contem- 
plating and  making  signs  to  the  little 
Creole  at  the  extremity  of  the  room. 
"  By  this  discovery,"  continued  M. 
de  V.  "  one  half  of  M.  Adolphc 
Lemaire's  property  devolves  on " 


— "  On  whom  ?"  roared  Mathieu  in 
a  paroxysm  of  impatience. — "  On 
that  little  girl,  his  daughter." — "  A 
la  bonne  heure,  ma  petite  niece!" 
cried  the  soldier/ running  to  her  and 
giving  her  a  kiss;  while  his  brother, 
broiling  with  rage,  was  scarcely  able 
to  articulate,  "  And  we,  his  own 
brothers  ?" — "  The  other  moiety  be- 
tween you." — A  pause  of  some  se- 
conds here  ensued,  till  Mathieu,  re- 
covering himself,  began  a  vehement 
tirade  against  his  brother,  cursing 
him  for  marrying  a  slave,  and  en- 
riching little  black  urchins  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  own  relations,  with  many 
other  expressions  to  the  same  effect. 
M.  de  Vallery  now  peremptorily  de- 
sired Hyacinthe  to  let  the  little  girl 
go  down,  as  she  could  not  possibly 
benefit  by  the  conversation  then  go- 
ing on,  more  particularly  as  her  pre- 
sence only  tended  to  increase  his  bro- 
ther's irritation.  Hyacinthe,  having 
resolved  himself  to  quit  the  apart- 
ment, rose,  and  taking  the  little  or- 
phan by  the  hand,  led  her  to  the 
door  by  which  (in  his  absence  of 
mind)  he  imagined  he  had  entered. 
He  opened  it  with  some  precipitation, 
and  his  brother's  figure  stood  before 
him  for  the  third  time.  He  uttered 
"  Oh!  mon  dieu'f"  and  riveted  to 
the  spot,  gazed  wildly  at  the  appari- 
tion; while  the  little  innocent  scream- 
ed out,  "  Papa  !  papa  /"  and  fell  in- 
to the  spectre's  arms.  Mathieu, 
startled  at  the  cries,  instantly  ceased 
his  volley  of  imprecations,  and  catch- 
ing the  angry  eye  of  the  revenanff 
was  barely  able  to  reach  a  chair  be- 
fore he  fainted.  M.  de  Vallery,  as- 
sisted by  the  landlady,  who  had  been 
drawn  thither  by  the  confusion,  in- 
stantly conveyed  him  to  his  bed- 
room, where  a  doctor  soon  attended 
to  administer  relief.     Hyacinthe  now 


132 


THE    THREE    IHtOTIIEUS. 


felt  confirmed  in  his  latent  belief  of 
the  existence  of  a  brother  who  had 
been  given  up  for  lost.  The  little 
Creole  shed  tears  of  joy  on  recover- 
ing her  father ;  and  the  resuscitated 
Adolphe,  happy  in  the  discovery  of 
a  brother  who  had  given  such  ample 
proofs  of  his  goodness  of  heart  and 
fraternal  affection,  clasped  him  ea- 
gerly to  his  breast.  Embrace  suc- 
ceeded embrace,  and  a  considerable 
period  elapsed  in  mutual  congratula- 
tions, before  Hyacinthe  sought  of  his 
brother  some  explanation  of  the  mys- 
tery which  living  over  the  report  of 
his  death.  His  story  was  soon  told. 
The  current  in  that  part  of  the  ocean 
where  he  fell  overboard,  running  par- 
ticularly strong  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion to  the  ship,  he  was  unable,  on 
regaining  the  surface  of  the  water, 
to  make  himself  heard,  or  even  seen. 
Despairing  of  relief,  although  an  ex- 
cellent swimmer,  he,  nevertheless, 
determined  to  support  himself  with 
as  little  fatigue  as  possible.  He 
floated  for  a  considerable  time,  till 
luckily  espying  the  remnant  of  an 
oar,  he  eagerly  availed  himself  of 
its  assistance,  and  kept  himself  up 
till  midnight,  when  the  glimmering 
of  a  distant  light  gave  a  fresh  im- 
pulse to  his  strength  and  exertions. 
At  two  in  the  morning  he  was  enabled 
to  hail  a  vessel,  which  immediately 
lowering  her  boat,  he  was  soon  after 
taken  on  board.  She  proved  to  be 
likewise  a  West  Indian,  but  bound 
for  Brest.  On  his  arrival  at  the 
latter  port,  he  immediately  wrote  to 
M.  de  Vallery  at  St.  Malo,  but  in 
taking  the  letter  to  the  post-office, 
he  was  agreeably  surprised  by  the 
intelligence  that  his  correspondent 
was  actually  in  the  same  town.  The 
astonishment  of  that  gentleman  at 
meeting  M.  Lemaire  was  extreme, 


as,  before  his  quitting  St.  Malo,  the 
vessel  had  arrived,  bringing  his  pro- 
tegee, with  the  intelligence  of  his 
premature  death;  upon  which  he 
had  written  to  the  brothers,  inviting 
them  to  that  port.  During  a  resi- 
dence of  seven  years  in  Guadaloupe, 
Adolphe  had  occasionally  received 
various  unfavourable  reports  of  the 
general  conduct  of  both  his  brothers. 
From  Mathieu's  letters  he  had  learn- 
ed that  Hyacinthe  was  a  drunkard 
and  a  spendthrift,  and  although  in  a 
good  business,  was  likely  to  leave  a 
large  family  without  a  sol.  Of  the 
other  brother  he  had  received  from 
several  quarters  very  unfavourable 
accounts ;  he  was  described  as  a  mi- 
ser, destitute  of  every  principle  of 
honour,  and  capable  of  any  mean- 
ness to  increase  his  riches.  The  re- 
port which  had  already  been  spread 
of  his  death,  determined  him  to  seize 
the  present  opportunity  of  becoming 
personally  acquainted  with  their  dis- 
positions,  without  discovering  himself; 
and  in  this  determination  he  request- 
ed M.i  de  Vallery  to  leave  his  bro- 
thers in  their  error,  and  keep  up  the 
delusion  for  a  day  or  two  after  their 
arrival.  On  approaching  St.  Malo, 
he  had  conceived  it  better  for  him 
to  enter  the  town  without  his  friend, 
and  on  their  arrival  at  St.  Servan, 
where  M.  de  V.  had  a  country-house, 
he  resolved  to  push  on  for  his  des- 
tination that  evening.  He  hired  a 
horse,  as  the  Greve  was  at  that  mo- 
ment impassable  for  any  other  con- 
veyance, and  by  swimming  his  steed 
over  a  few  yards,  reached  the  town 
before  the  closing  of  the  gates.  Cu- 
riosity at  seeing  a  diligence  surround- 
ed by  water,  prompted  him  to  pull 
up  and  look  in ;  an  action  of  which 
he  sorely  repented  on  seeing  his  bro- 
thers, who  were  not  expected  till  the 


THE    THREE    BROTHERS. 


33 


next  day.  The  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun  gave  his  countenance  the 
fiery  tinge  which,  even  on  explana- 
tion, Hyacinthe  could  scarcely  re- 
concile with  terrestrial  possibility. 

He  took  up  his  abode  at  the  count- 
ing-house of  M.  de  Vallery,  from 
■whom  the  next  morning  he  learned 
the  particulars  of  his  first  visit  to 
his  brothers,  as  also  the  effect  of  his 
appearance  in  the  harbour  on  the 
preceding  evening.  From  what  he 
heard,  he  immediately  conceived  the 
idea  of  working  on  their  feelings  by 
feigning  to  make  little  Toinette  his 
principal  heir,  in  quality  of  his  legi- 
timate daughter,  thereby  leaving  to 
them  but  a  diminished  portion  of  his 
property.  After  arranging  this  af- 
fair, and  other  little  matters  of  bu- 
siness, his  friend  proposed  a  walk 
out  of  the  town,  as  they  would  there 
incur  little  risk  of  meeting  either  of 
his  brothers.  It  was  in  this  prome- 
nade, that  seeing  at  some  distance  a 
considerable  scuffle,  they  hastened 
to  the  spot.  At  the  sight  of  M.  de 
Vallery,  who,  from  his  influence  in 
St.  Malo,  was  extremely  respected, 
the  assailants  instantly  ceased  hosti- 
lities, and  Adolphe  stood  involunta- 
rily before  Hyacinthe,  whom  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  moment  had  pro- 
bably prevented  from  perceiving  M. 
deV. 

"  But  why  call  me  a  spy,  a  mou- 
chard  ?"  here  interrupted  Hyacinthe. 
— *  I  can  explain  that,"  replied  the 
former.  "  A  douanier  came  to  my 
counting-house  a  few  hours  after  in 
search  of  a  M.  Lemaire,  and  in- 
formed me,  out  of  personal  friend- 
ship for  me,  that  he  had  brought  a 
proportion  of  the  value  of  a  seizure 
of  tobacco  made  on  the  person  of 
Madame  Martin,  hi  consequence  of 

Vol.  II.  No.  IX. 


I  an  intimation  from  M.  Lemaire,  a 
:  passenger  in  the  same  coach,  who 
I  had  laid  the  information  when  the 
diligence  stopped  for  examination." 
— "  'Twas  no  doubt  ce  malheureux 
Mathieu,"  exclaimed  Hyacinthe,"  and 
',  therefore  let's  say  no  more  about  it." 
!  To  continue  Adolphe's  story :  the 
unfortunate  stone  which  laid  Hya- 
cinthe on  his  mother  earth  preclud- 
ed any  farther  explanation  at  that 
moment.  He  was  conveyed  to  the 
nearest  public-house,  bled,  and  car- 
ried to  bed.  Adolphe  kept  out  of 
sight,  fearing  his  presence  might  ag- 
gravate his  brother's  unfavourable 
symptoms,  and  set  out  on  his  return 
to  town  a  few  minutes  after  the  de- 
parture of  M.  de  V.  and  Hyacinthe, 
the  former  of  whom  had  previously 
sent  for  his  cabriolet.  On  reach- 
ing St.  Malo,  Adolphe  learned  from 
M.  de  V.  the  arrival  of  little  Toinette 
from  St.  Servan,  at  the  same  time 
that  he  was  informed  of  Hyacinthe's 
recovery,  and  his  affectionate  regard 
for  the  child.  •  Adolphe  now  resolved 
to  be  an  auricular  witness  of  the 
scene  which  was  likely  to  take  place 
on  the  intimation  of  his  marriage. 
With  the  assistance  of  the  landlady, 
who  had  been  partially  initiated  into 
the  circumstance,  he  took  possession 
of  a  closet  adjoining  the  dining-room, 
and  there  he  heard  every  syllable 
uttered  by  both  his  brothers  after 
dinner.  His  situation,  however,  was 
far  from  being  enviable:  alternately 
agitated  by  feelings  of  affection  and 
contempt,  he  had  not  power  to  op- 
pose the  sudden  opening  of  the  door 
by  Hyacinthe,  which  led  to  the  ex- 
posure of  his  concealment,  and  the 
denouement  of  the  affair. 

It  will  easily  be  conceived  that  the 
soldier's  feelings  at  the  end  of  this 


1.34 


THE    LATE   REV.  JAMES   LAMBERT. 


story  were  partially  tranquillized,  but 
it  required  some  hours  before  they 
were  by  any  means  composed.  The 
report  of  the  doctor  stated  Mathieu 
to  be  better,  but  that  he  must  re- 
main undisturbed.  Hyacinthe  and 
Adolphe,  after  an  evening  of  mutual 
felicity,  sought  relief  in  solitude  and 
sleep  for  the  fatigues  of  the  mind 
and  body  during  the  day. 

It  only  remains  to  be  added,  that 
Mathieu  rose  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  leaving  his  portmanteau  and 


bill,  quitted  the  town  without  beat 
of  drum,  and  arrived  in  a  couple  of 
days  at  Angers,  where  he  has  in- 
variably declined  every  overture  of 
reconciliation  from  either  brother. 
Adolphe,  with  little  Toinette,  inhabits 
a  neat  campagne  on  the  route  de 
Rcnnes,  near  Nantes,  enjoying  to 
this  day  the  occasional  society  of  Hy- 
acinthe's  numerous  family,  as  open, 
good-humoured,  and  honest  as  him- 
self. 


THE  LATE  REV.  JAMES  LAMBERT. 
TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sir, 

To  many  of  the  readers  of 
your  valuable  Repository,  the  fol- 
lowing addition  to  the  description  of 
Tabley  -  House,  which  ornamented 
your  last  Number,  may  not  be  unac- 
ceptable, a  i. 

Ipswich,  July  1823. 


The  present  Sir  John  Fleming 
Leicester  and  his  brothers  were  for 
many  years  under  the  private  tu- 
ition of  the  Rev.  James  Lambert, 
late  senior  fellow  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  a  man  not  less  esteemed 
for  his  amiable. and  moral  character, 
than  distinguished  as  a  learned  and 
elegant  scholar. 

In  1777,  after  having  been  assist- 
ant tutor  of  his  college,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert left  Cambridge  to  superintend 
the  education  of  Lady  Leicester's 
sons,  and  resided  with  them,  partly 
at  Tabley-House  in  Cheshire,  and 
partly  in  London,  until  1782;  dur- 
ing which  time  he  addressed  to  her 
ladyship  the  following  original  and 
elegant  lines,  which  have  hitherto 
been  unpublished : 


STRING  OF   SIMILES  ON  A  SWALLOW. 
Addressed  to  Lady  Leicester. 

'Tis  like  the  soul,  'tis  like  a  friend; 
Like  bliss,  our  being's  aim  and  end; 
Like  life,  and  wealth,  and  blindness  too  j 
But  most  of  aill — 'tis  like  to  you. 

A  swallow's  like  the  soul,  I  say  ; 
For  why  ?  its  tenement  is  clay  : 
And  life,  that  busy  bustling  thing-, 
Life,  like  the  bird,  is  on  the  wing. 

Riches  'tis  like,  for  surely  they 
Have  also  wings,  and  fly  away  : 
When  flatterers  fawn  to  gain  their  ends, 
What  are  they  but  fair-weather  friends  ? 

The  blind,  the  proverb  tells  you  why, 
The  blind,  you  know,  catch  many  a  fly: 
For  happiness,  'twere  easy  now 
To  find  a  rhyme  and  reason  too. 

But  spare  the  Muse  one  honest  line, 
To  paint  the  lot  she  wishes  thine: 
There  shadowy  forms  may  please  awhile, 
Pleasure  may  court,  and  pomp  beguile; 
But  lasting  bliss,  search  where  you  will,. 
Builds  in  the  chimney-corner  still. 

All  this,  they'll  say,  is  very  plain, 
But  how  like  Leicester  ?  Try  again  : 
Can  she,  who  blesses  all  at  home, 
In  foreign  climes  delight  to  roam  ? 
Can  she,  who  loves  the  rural  cell, 
In  smoke  and  soot  delight  to  dwell  ? 

Peace  with  your  queries,  friend  !    I  trust 
The  likeness  still  you'll  own  is  just : 


INSTITUTION    FOR    THE    FORMATION    OF    WIVES. 


135 


In  that  sweet  month  when  Nature's  hand 
Perfumes  the  air  anil  paints  the  land, 
While  lingering  blights  her  hopes  betray, 
And  winter  checks  the  pride  of  May, 
Let  but  the  swallow  tribe  appear, 
And  si  mmer  instant  follows  there. 

In  1782,  Mr.  Lambert,  with  his 
eldest  pupil,  Sir  John  Leicester,  re- 
turned to  college.  His  connections 
with  the  Leicester  family  continued 
till  1787,  when  the  two  younger 
brothers,  Henry  and  Charles,  took 
their  bachelor's  degree. 

Mr.  Lambert,  who,  as  a  recent  well- 
written  and  characteristic  sketch  of 
him  observes,  was  as  remarkable  for 
his  literary  attainments  as  for  the  po- 
lished urbanity  of  his  manners,  was 
the  son  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Lam- 
bert, vicar  of  Thorpe,  near  Harwich, 
and  rector  of  Melton  in  Suffolk,  to 
whose  memory,  with  that  of  his  mo- 
ther, he  placed  on  a  mural  tablet  in 
the  church  of  Melton  the  following 
filial  and  beautiful  tributary  verses: 


Ye,  that  in  Fame's  proud  titles,  wealth,  or 
state, 

Unwisely  deem  all  earthly  bliss  complete, 

Hark  !  'tis  his  voice,  which  still  in  truths  pro- 
found 

Breathes  its  mild  dictates  from  this  hallow'd 
ground : 

"  Content  was  ours;  Content  those  joys  sup- 
plied 

So  oft  to  greatness,  wealth,  and  fame  denied." 

More  would  ye  know?  Go,  ask  the  poor  they 
fed, 

The  sick  they  cherish'd,  and  the  flock  he  led  ; 

Go,  ask  of  all,  and  learn  from  every  tear, 

The  meek  how  honour'd,  and  the  good  how 
dear. 

Mr.  Lambert  would  never  accept 
any  clerical  preferment,  having  re- 
peatedly refused  many  valuable  liv- 
ings. He  died,  unmarried,  on  the 
28th  April  last,  at  the  advanced  age 
of  83,  most  sincerely  regretted  by 
an  extensive  circle  of  friends;  and 
was,  according  to  his  desire,  interred 
in  the  parish  church  of  Fersfield  in 
Norfolk. 


PROSPECTUS  OF  A  NEW  INSTITUTION  FOR  THE 
FORMATION  OF  WIVES. 


Amidst  all  the  fashionable  accom- 
plishments with  which  it  is  thought 
necessary  in  these  days  to  cram  the 
fair  speculators  in  matrimony,  that 
most  desirable  of  all  accomplishments, 
the  art  of  pleasing  a  husband,  is  to- 
tally neglected.  When  those  allure- 
ments which  captivated  the  eye  or 
the  imagination  have  lost  their  no- 
velty, or  have  ceased  to  be  practis- 
ed, there  remains,  by  the  modern 
system  of  education,  nothing  solid 
whereon  to  build  the  substantial  en- 
joyments of  domestic  life.  The  use- 
ful is  on  all  occasions  made  to  give 
way  to  the  ornamental.  That  fe- 
male who,  on  the  present  plan,  makes 
a  good  wife,  must  not  be  of  the  com- 
mon mould.    Thrice  happy  the  man 


i  who,  in  the  lottery  of  matrimony,  ob- 

i  tains  such  a  prize ! 

It  cannot  be  denied,   that  many 

!  womenhave  distinguished  themselves 
in  the  field  of  literature:  still  it  must 
be  admitted,  that  this  is  not  their 
proper  scene  of  action.  Let  such, 
however,  as  feel  disposed  to  devote 
their  lives  to  the  advancement  of  let- 
ters, follow  their  inclinations;  but  let 
them  not  presume  to  turn  wives.  A 
learned  wife  may  be  considered  about 
as  useless  a  member  of  society  as  a 
learned  pig.  Indeed,  the  latter  may 
be  looked  upon  as  the  less  injurious 
of  the  two ;  for  all  the  loss  the  blue- 
stocking grunter  occasions  to  socie- 
ty consists  in  the  failure  of  her  half- 
yearly  crop,  or  in  postponing  till  her 
T  2 


1.36 


INSTITUTION   FOR    THE    FORMATION    OF    WIVEfr. 


dotage  the  surrender  of  her  flitches; 
it  being  presumed  that,  as  long  as 
the  said  pig  exhibits  for  the  profit  of 
its  owner,  and  for  the  gratification 
of  the  curious,  it  is  kept  free  from 
the  incumbrance  of  a  family.  In  this 
case,  no  hungry  suckers  squeak  forth 
their  impatience  while  mamma  goes 
through  the  alphabet  to  an  admiring 
company,  no  domestic  duty  is  neg- 
lected, no  moral  obligation  is  broken. 
But  the  hapless  progeny  of  a  learn- 
ed human  mother  must  pine  in  ig- 
norance and  neglect,  while  mamma  is 
preparing  pap  for  babes  of  a  larger 
growth,  or  in  reading  for  her  even- 
ing's exhibition  before  a  select  circle 
of  savans;  and  that  wretched  appen- 
dage, the  husband,  is  prevented  from 
following  some  profitable  occupation 
by  the  honourable  post  of  amanuen- 
sis to  his  better  and  more  learned 
half. 

The  number  of  institutions  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  for  the  education  of  fe- 
male youth  is  apparent  to  every  one. 
Seminaries,  establishments  for  young 
ladies,  &c.  meet  the  eye  at  every 
step  you  take  in  the  suburbs  of  the 
metropolis;  and  it  is  curious  to  re- 
mark, that  they  all  avoid,  with  a  most 
sickly  fastidiousness,  the  more  sim- 
ple appellation  of  school.  In  this, 
however,  it  must  be  admitted,  that 
they  are  right;  for  it  would  be  just 
as  appropriate  to  give  the  name  of 
school  to  an  establishment  for  the 
cramming  of  turkeys,  as  to  such  fa- 
shionable young-lady-coops  as  are 
now  used  in  preparing  females  for 
the  matrimonial  market.  These  are, 
one  and  all,  liable  to  the  objections 
complained  of.  They  "  rear  the 
tender  thought,"  it  is  true,  but  in 
such  a  manner  that,  when  transplant- 
ed to  the  soil  of  matrimony,  the  blos- 
soms wither  and  bear  no  fruit.    They 


"  teach  the  young  idea  how  to  shoot," 
but  at  the  wrong  mark.  Their  aim 
is  at  the  eye,  not  at  the  heart;  at  the 
imagination,  not  at  the  head.  In  fe- 
male education  there  is  still,  there- 
fore, a  grand  desideratum.  To  sup- 
ply this  is  the  object  of  the  Meg- 
dames  Sober  and  Steady.  With  this 
view  they  have  resolved  on  opening 
an  Institution  for  the  Formation  of 
Wives;  and  in  this  arduous,  and,  they 
may  say  without  vanity,  laudable  un- 
dertaking, they  confidently  look  for 
the  patronage  of  such  of  the  nobili- 
ty and  gentry  as  are  desirous  of  hav- 
ing their  daughters  brought  up  on 
true  domestic  principles. 

As,  in  the  present  constitution  of 
society,  a  woman  cannot  be  render- 
ed perfectly  good  upon  the  original 
principle,  without  the  operator  being 
subject  to  the  penalty  of  su-sjiension 
from  all  earthly  functions,  for  a  time 
sufficiently  long  to  prevent  his  feel- 
ing any  inclination  to  resume  them,  it 
cannot  be  expected  that  any  person, 
however  philanthropic  his  views, 
would  be  foolhardy  enough  to  attempt 
the  reformation  of  the  fair  sex  upon 
the  plan  alluded  to.  It  becomes, 
then,  a  matter  of  consequence  to  ren- 
der that  head,  which  the  law  has  de- 
creed to  remain  on  the  shoulders,  to 
the  manifest  injury  of  society,  as  in- 
nocuous as  possible,  by  divesting  it 
of  all  ideas  at  all  adverse  to  the  qua- 
lifications of  the  original  good  wo- 
man, and  storing  it  with  matter  use- 
ful only  in  forming  the  character  of 
a  good  wife.  In  this  manner  that  por- 
tion of  the  human  frame  which  was 
considered  by  our  wise  forefathers  as 
a  useless,  if  not  injurious,  appendage 
to  the  female  form,  may,  it  is  con- 
ceived, be  made  by  proper  manage- 
ment conducive  to  the  welfare  of 
society.      It  is  upon  this  principle 


INSTITUTION    FOR    Tllli    FORMATION    OF    WIVES. 


137 


that  the  Mcsdames  S.  and  S.  pro- 
fess to  proceed,  and  that  they  found 
their  claim  to  originality.  Should 
success  crown  their  exertions,  they 
will  feel  amply  rewarded  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  having  been,  through 
Providence,  the  means  of  improving 
their  own  sex  in  particular,  and  of 
conferring  an  inestimable  benefit  on 
mankind. 

When  female  talent  is  once  di- 
rected into  its  proper  channel,  what 
glorious  results  may  not  be  anticipat- 
ed! That  genius  which  could  pen  a 
Corinna  or  a  Ceelebs  will  then  exert 
its  energies  in  the  important  office  of 
regulating  a  family,  or  in  advancing 
that  most  useful  of  all  sciences,  do- 
mestic economy.  What  a  revolution 
in  female  habits  will  then  be  effected ! 
Those  fingers  which  once  handled  the 
goose-quill  only,  will  then  be  per- 
mitted to  explore  the  inmost  recesses 
of  the  noble  biped  which  furnished 
it.  That  genius  which  could  force 
us  to  waste  our  sympathies  on  a  fic- 
titious tale,  will  then  be  more  use- 
fully employed  in  drawing  tears  from 
a  calf's  foot,  in  watching  the  drop- 
pings of  a  jelly-bag,  or  in  listening 
to  the  simmerings  of  a  Mazarine  ket- 
tle. That  magic  power  which  had 
our  passions  at  command,  and  which, 
by  playing  on  the  weakness  of  our 
nature,  could  harrow  up  our  souls 
with  a  tale  of  misery  or  of  horror, 
will  then  have  a  free  vent  for  all  its 
heart-rending  propensities  in  the 
slaughter  of  the  poultry-yard,  in  the 
skinning  of  the  eel,  in  the  boiling  of 
the  lobster,  or  in  extricating  from  beef 
and  cabbage  a  bubble  and  a  squeak. 
That  exalted  mind  which  could  smile 
with  contempt  at  the  vituperations 
of  the  critic,  will  then  listen  with 
equal  indifference  to  the  hissing  of 
the  tea-kettle.     She,  who  once  pre- 


sided at  the  coterie,  who  was,  as  it 
were,  the  sun  of  her  own  system, 
whose  wit  radiated  in  electric  flashes 
to  the  farthest  extremity  of  her  cir- 
cle, while  the  pale  envious  moons 
"  hid  their  diminished  heads"  as  she 
displayed  her  refulgence,  or,  when 
she  turned  her  back,  shone  in  her 
borrowed  light,  may  then,  without 
exciting  envy,  or  inflicting  a  pang, 
exert  equal  talent  in  the  manufacture 
of  bohea,  and  display  her  most 
christian  virtues  in  dispensing  to  a 
numerous  company  the  refreshing 
beverage,  without  its  usual  accom- 
paniment of  scandal.  When  em- 
ployed in  such  truly  domestic  duties, 
the  homely  matron  will  have  nothing 
to  fear  from  the  malice  of  the  world ; 
no  clouds  of  detraction  will  obscure 
her  modest  light,  no  storms  will 
overshadow  her  peaceful  counte- 
nance. When  those  halcyon  days 
arrive,  the  literary  female  will  super- 
intend her  Utter  of  pigs.  The  press 
will  still  team  with  her  productions; 
but  it  will  be  with  those  of  her  hands, 
not  of  her  brain.  Instead  of  writing 
fine  things,  she  will  get  them  up.  In- 
stead of  mangling  the  character  of 
her  neighbours,  she  will  bestow  that 
favour  on  her  house-linen.  Instead 
of  saying  tart  things,  not  easily  sto- 
mached or  digested,  she  will  make 
tart  things  to  go  down  glibly,  by  the 
happy  mixture  of  sweet  and  sour. 
The  neat  well-darnedlwhite  stocking 
will  take  the  place  of  the  blue.  In 
short,  all  her  habits  will  be  changed, 
and  all  her  ideas  concentrated  with- 
in her  proper  sphere. 

In  the  education  of  the  young  la- 
dies committed  to  their  charge,  the 
Mesdames  Sober  and  Steady  will  be 
careful  to  exclude  all  those  modern 
accomplishments  at  variance  with 
their  system,  and  to  substitute  those 


133 


INSTITUTION    FOR    THE    FORMATION   OF   WIVES. 


branches  of  knowledge  really  useful 
and  conducive  to  the  desired  object. 
For  instance,  for  political  economy 
will  be  substituted  domestic  economy; 
for  geography  and  the  use  of  the 
globes,  housewifery  and  the  use  of 
the  needle;  for  astronomy,  the  sci- 
ence of  gastronomy,  and  so  on. 
Such  portions,  however,  of  the  sci- 
ences of  botany,ichthyology,  and  con- 
chology,  as  may  be  useful  in  choos- 
ing a  cabbage,  a  turbot,  or  an  oyster, 
will  be  taught,  as  it  is  the  object  of 
the  Mesdames  Sober  and  Steady  to 
omit  nothing  which  can  render  the 
young  ladies  perfectly  competent  to 
superintend  all  the  concerns  of  a  fa- 
mily ;  and  with  this  view  they  are, 
when  sufficiently  advanced  in  the  art 
of  housekeeping,  employed  by  rota- 
tion in  overlooking  the  domestic  ar- 
rangements of  the  house.  As  it  is 
also  of  importance  that  every  female 
at  the  head  of  a  family  should  not 
not  only  superintend,  but  know  how 
to  execute  what  she  commands,  the 
best  teachers  in  the  culinary  art  are 
employed;  and  as  the  old  English 
dishes  of  roast  beef  and  plumb-pud- 
ding, on  which,  in  a  great  measure, 
depends  the  solidity  of  the  British 
constitution,are  rapidly  losing  ground, 
while  French  dishes  are  gaining  the 
ascendency,  the  Mesdames  Sober 
and  Steady  have  engaged  a  celebrat- 
ed artist  in  this  department,  who  will 
give  regular  lessons  to  the  young  la- 
dies. And  as  every  mistress  of  a  fa- 
mily should  know  how  to  choose  her 
meat,  an  eminent  professor  of  butch- 
ery will  attend  once  a  week  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  instruction  on  that 
head.  Each  young  lady  will  also 
in  turn  accompany  the  housekeeper 
when  she  goes  to  market,  in  order 
that  she  may  not  only  learn  how  to 
choose  the  articles  required  for  do- 


mestic consumption,  but  also  how  to 
drive  a  bargain. 

Such  young  ladies  as  possess  a 
good  ear  for  music  will  be  instructed 
in  that  pleasing  art,  which,  by  a  pro- 
per application  of  its  power,  may  be 
made  conducive  to  domestic  happi- 
ness. In  the  instructions  given,  how- 
ever, the  aim  will  be  to  please,  not 
to  surprise;  to  captivate  the  ear,  not 
to  take  it  by  storm.  No  rattling 
over  the  keys  with  the  right  hand, 
like  the  Brighton  Telegraph  up  the 
stones  of  Piccadilly,  while  the  more 
cumbrous  bass  keeps  pounding  like 
Pickford's  van  in  the  rear,  to  the  im- 
minent danger  of  our  nerves  and  the 
fingers  of  the  performer.  None  of  that 
flying  off  of  the  right  hand  in  dan- 
gerous ad  Ubitums  from  the  left,  with 
as  much  harmony  as  between  a  bride 
of  eighteen  and  a  gouty  husband  of 
fourscore.  In  short,  instead  of  va- 
riations, divertimentos,  fantasias,  and 
the  like  musical  hodgepodges,  the 
pupils  will  be  practised  in  those  sim- 
ple and  affecting  airs,  which,  by  act- 
ing as  an  opiate  on  the  senses,  will 
prove  eminently  useful  in  allaying 
the  ferment  of  the  passions,  or  in 
contributing  to  the  repose  of  the  hus- 
band, as  he  reclines  in  his  arm-chair 
after  the  fatigues  of  the  day.  No 
dancing  beyond  that  of  the  old  Eng- 
lish country  dance,  or  stately  minuet, 
will  be  allowed  to  be  taught  in  the 
institution  of  the  Mesdames  Sober 
and  Steady,  as  it  suits  not  the  digni- 
ty of  the  marriage  state  to  whirl 
through  the  giddy  waltz,  or  to  mix 
in  the  mazes  of  the  quadrille.  By 
avoiding  such  useless  and  perilous 
accomplishments,  that  dangerous  ap- 
pendage to  a  ladies'  seminary,  a  danc- 
ing-master, is  rendered  unnecessary, 
for  one  of  the  teachers  will  be  com- 
petent to  give  the  requisite  lessons  in 


INSTITUTION    FOR    THE    FORMATION    OF    WIVES. 


m 


the  art.  A  drill-serjeant  from  Chel- 
sea College  will,  however-,  attend  the 
school,  for  the  purpose  of  setting 
up  the  young  ladies,  and  giving  them 
a  dignified  carriage.  Nor  will  the 
young  ladies  be  instructed  in  any  of 
the  dead  or  living  languages  beyond 
their  own,  the  object  being  rather  to 
controul  the  tongue,  than  to  supply 
it  with  matter  for  exercise.  Besides, 
such  studies  would  only  tend  to  dis- 
tract and  burden  the  mind,  and  to 
employ  a  considerable  portion  of 
that  intellect  which  should  be  wholly 
given  up  to  the  grand  science  of 
housewifery. 

The  utmost  attention  will  be  paid 
to  the  morals  of  the  young  ladies,  on 
whom  every  domestic  duty  will  be 
inculcated.  No  novels  or  newspa- 
pers are  allowed  to  be  read,  on  pain 
of  expulsion.  In  short,  no  books 
will  be  permitted  in  the  school,  ex- 
cept such  as  tend  to  advance  the 
principles  of  the  institution.  And, 
as  no  means  of  instilling  the  precepts 
of  virtue  and  economy  should  be 
neglected,  the  copy-books  and  sam- 
plers of  the  young  ladies  will  con- 
tain those  homely  maxims,  which 
have,  from  their  truth  and  aptitude, 
received  the  concurrent  approbation 
of  ages:  such  as,  "  A  stitch  in  time 
saves  nine;"  "  Waste  not,  want  not;" 
"  Fools  and  their  money  are  soon 
parted ;"  "  Take  care  of  the  shillings 
and  pence,  and  the  pounds  will  take 
care  of  themselves;"  "  When  the 
cat's  away  the  mice  will  play,"  and 
such  like.  And  so  much  are  the  Mes- 
dames  S.  and  S.  convinced  of  the  im- 
portance of  employing  memory,  in 
preference  to  every  other  faculty  of 
the  mind,  in  the  regulation  of  the 
conduct,  and  indeed  in  the  general 
affairs  of  life,  that  in  all  the  rooms 
occupied  by  the  young  ladies,  these, 


and  other  aphorisms  of  a  similar  na- 
ture, are  placed  in  conspicuous  situ- 
ations on  the  wall.  A  mind  well 
stored  with  wholesome  maxims  comes 
forth  into  the  world  armed  at  all 
points.  Secure  in  the  experience  of 
the  past,  it  sets  all  speculation  and 
innovation  at  defiance,  and  steadily 
pursues  the  track  pointed  out  by  the 
accumulated  wisdom  of  ages. 

It  being  of  the  first  importance  to 
the  ends  of  the  institution  that  that 
most  unruly  member,  the  tongue, 
should  be  brought  into  proper  dis- 
cipline, the  young  ladies  are  strictly 
prohibited  from  speaking  more  than 
a  certain  number  of  words  within  the 
hour;  and  on  no  account  to  make 
use  of  puns,  bon-mots,  or  the  like. 

Obedience  to  the  lawful  authority 
of  man  is  among  the  first  principles 
implanted  in  the  minds  of  the  young 
ladies  intrusted  to  Mesdames  S.  and 
S.;  and  they  are  accordingly  brought 
up  in  the  utmost  reverence  for  the 
lords  of  the  creation,  whom  they  are 
taught  to  consider  as  beings  of  a 
higher  order :  and  it  being  essential 
to  the  accomplishment  of  this  pri- 
mary object,  that  the  tempers  of  the 
young  ladies  should  be  rendered  as 
docile  as  possible,  when  any  of  the 
pupils  offend  in  this  particular,  or 
shew  any  disposition  to  domineer, 
they  are  immediately  invested  in  a 
pair  of  inexpressibles,  kept  for  that 
purpose,  and  which,  like  a  fool's  or 
dunce's  cap,  holds  them  up  as  ob- 
jects of  deserved  ridicule  to  their 
companions.  In  like  manner,  when 
any  pupil  evinces  an  inclination  for 
abstruse  subjects,  or  for  the  study  of 
any  thing  not  perfectly  in  unison  with 
the  plans  of  the  institution,  she  is 
clad  in  a  pair  of  blue  stockings,  in 
which  she  continues  to  make  her  ap- 
pearance till  repentance  and  refor- 


140 


ADVENTURES   OF    A    SEU.JEANTS    WIFE. 


mation  liberate  her  from  the  reproach- 
ful hose.  Every  pains  are  also  ta- 
ken to  eradicate  all  foolish  fears  and 
prejudices;  so  that  young  ladies  who 
have  completed  their  education  un- 
der the  Mesdames  S.  and  S.  will  be 
warranted  not  to  scream  in  a  carri- 
age, to  faint  at  a  wasp,  or  to  shew 
any  of  those  ridiculous  airs  now  so 
common  among  ladies  of  fashion. 

The  Mesdames  S.  and  S.'s  terms 
are  as  follows: 

Board   and    education,  including  Eng-    Gs. 
lish,  plain   cooking,  music,  pickling, 
dancing,  preserving,  and   plain  nee- 
dle-work     40 

Lectures  in  domestic  economy       ...     10 
Higher  branches  of  cooker y,  including 
made  dishes,  pastry,  &c 10 


|  Writing,    arithmetic,     and    family    ac-    Cs. 

counts '> 

Roast  beef  and  plumb-pudding  master         0 

Butcher's  lessons 4 

Drill-scrjeant 4 

Ornamental  needle-work 4 

Lessons  in  washing  and   getting   up  fine 

things     4 

Curry-powder  by  private  lessons*. 

Entrance  to  the  house  2  guineas,  to  the 
kitchen  1  guinea,  to  the  larder  1  guinea, 
and  to  each  of  the  masters  2  guineas. 

N.  B.  In  addition  to  the  articles  usually 
brought  by  young  ladies  to  school,  it  is  ex- 
pected that  they  be  provided  with  three  pair 
of  pockets,  three  large  high  aprons,  a  well- 
stored  housewife,  a  pincushion,  a  clasp-knife, 
and  a  nutmeg-grater. 

*  This  will  be  found  extremely  serviceable 
to  young  ladies  intended  for  the  Indian  mar- 
ket. 


ADVENTURES  OF  A  SERJEANT'S  WIFE  DURING  THE 
PENINSULAR  WAR. 

Overwhelmed  by  grief,  and  in  de- 


The  person  whose  courage  and  hu- 
manity will  appear  in  this  narrative, 
in  early  life  seemed  to  be  destined 
for  a  higher  sphere  than  that  in  which 
she  spent  her  maturer  years.  Her 
father  was  a  teacher  of  music  in  a 
provincial  town,  and  might  have  pro- 
vided handsomely  for  his  only  child ; 
but  after  the  death  of  his  wife,  he 
gave  himself  up  to  intemperance,  by 
which  he  was  brought,  in  extreme 
wretchedness,  to  a  premature  grave, 
when  Violetta  was  about  sixteen. 
Creditors  seized  the  few  moveables 
he  left,  and  as  he  and  his  wife  were 
foreigners,  the  orphan  had  not  a  re- 
lation, or  even  a  friend,  to  procure 
her  employment.  She  had  saved  her 
father  and  herself  from  absolute 
starvation  by  making  little  ornament- 
al articles,  which  she  hawked  about 
the  town  in  a  basket;  but  this  was  a 
precarious  subsistence,  and  so  disre- 
putable as  to  preclude  her  from  en- 
gagements to  teach  the  piano-forte, 
or  even  as  a  servant. 


spall*  of  pity,  she  was  leaving  the 
humble  apartmentwhence  her  father's 
body  had  just  been  carried,  when  a 
young  man,  the  serjeantof  a  recruit- 
ing party  in  the  place,  came,  and 
begged  her  to  hear  him  on  a  subject 
nearly  concerning  them  both.  He 
said  he  owed  her  father  twenty-five 
shillings  for  lessons  on  the  violin  and 
for  music :  he  would  pay  the  amount 
most  readily ;  but  if  she  would  share 
his  fate,  he  hoped  she  might  have 
no  cause  for  repentance.  He  was 
convinced  she  was  a  virtuous  and  in- 
dustrious girl,  and  she  had  known 
him  long  enough  to  be  assured  of  his 
sobriety.  The  world  was  before 
them,  and  they  might  elbow  their 
way  through  it  in  credit  and  comfort. 
Violetta  modestly  accepted  the  pro- 
posal, and  in  a  few  hours  they  were 
married. 

The  serjeant  had  the  reward  of 
his  generosity ;  the  most  faithful  at- 
tachment   and    energetic  exertions 


ADVENTURES    OF    A    SERJEANTS    WIFE. 


141 


were  continually  employed  by  his 
wife  to  promote  his  happiness  and 
interest.  She  taught  music  when 
opportunity  offered ;  made  and  sold 
gum-flowers,  card -boxes,  chimney- 
ornaments,  and  other  fine  wares  ;  or 
took  plain-work  or  clear-starching. 
She  attended  her  husband  through 
many  climates :  they  reared  a  large 
family ;  some  of  their  sons  were  in 
the  music-band  of  the  regiment,  and 
the  daughters  remained  in  respect- 
able service  in  England,  when,  with 
other  battalions,  they  embarked  for 
the  Peninsula.  The  Serjeant  had 
been  repeatedly,  though  not  severe- 
ly, wounded.  He  and  his  wife  had 
their  constitutions  much  tried  in  dif- 
ferent climates ;  yet  both  still  enjoy- 
ed good  health,  and  when  only  a  li- 
mited number  of  females  were  per- 
mitted to  accompany  the  corps,  Vio- 
letta's  excellent  conduct  and  useful- 
ness secured  her  preference. 

A  foraging  party,  conducted  by  the 
serjeant,  was  suddenly  attacked  and 
routed  by  very  superior  numbers  of 
the  French  soon  after  the  battle  of 
Vittoria.     All   the   British   soldiers 
were  killed  or  prisoners,  except  the 
serjeant,  who   lay  wounded  on  the 
ground,  when  his  faithful  helpmate, 
who  always  followed  his  movements, 
searching  for  him  among  his   dying 
or  lifeless  comrades,  had  the  happi- 
ness to  find  him  still  warm  and  re- 
spiring, though  with  faint  and  broken 
heavings  of  his  breast.     She  looked 
round  for  shelter,  and  saw  a  ruined 
house  at  a  short  distance ;  but  it  was 
too  far  to  remove  her  bleeding  pa- 
tient, until  his  wounds  were  staunch- 
ed.    She   always  had  dressings   in 
readiness,  and  having  applied  them 
with  care  and  tenderness,  she  bore 
him  to  a  spot  where  herbage  had 
Vol.  II.  No.  IX. 


sprung  under  the  shade  of  the  roof- 
less walls.     She  then  gathered  dry 
grass  and  leaves,  on  which  she  spread 
her  cloak  to  form  a  pallet,  and  took 
off  a  petticoat  as  a  substitute  for  a 
pillow.     A  cordial  being  administer- 
ed, the  sufferer  could  make  a  feeble 
sign  for  drink,  and  after  some  wan- 
derings, Violetta  succeeded  in  pro- 
curing water.     She  was  also  fortu- 
nate  enough  to  meet  with  orange- 
trees  ;  but  her  husband  would  only 
take  the   simple  fluid.     Night  was 
falling  fast,  and  should  he  call  for 
more  water,  she  might  lose  her  way 
among  rocks  and  underwood.     She 
explored  the  lower  story  of  the  house 
for  some  forgotten  utensil;  met  only 
with  large  fragments  of  earthen  jars; 
but  in  her  circumstances,  these  ap- 
peared of  more  value  than  ingots  of 
gold.     She  filled  them  with  water, 
collected  withered  branches  from  the 
wood,  and  having  kindled  a  fire  to 
supply  light,  she  sat  down  to  feed  it 
little  by  little,  and  to  watch  her  hus- 
band, fervently  thanking  God  that 
she   had   found   him,    and   offering 
prayers  for  his  recovery.     Long  be- 
fore the  dawn,  by  the  pale  glimmer 
of  the  fire,  she  saw  his  countenance 
change  to  the  hue  of  death.     She 
knelt  by  him,  fondly  grasping  his 
cold  hands,  till  he  expired. 

She  now  ceased  to  feed  the  fire, 
lest  it  might  lead  the  enemy  to  her 
retreat;  and  still  on  her  knees,  with 
the  stiffened  hands  fast  in  her  own, 
she  patiently,  but  sorrowfully,  waited 
the  return  of  day.  A  low  moan  and 
a  rustling  sound  struck  her  ear.  It 
seemed  to  issue  from  beneath  the 
floor.  Violetta  had  given  many 
proofs  of  courage,  that  would  have 
done  honour  to  the  masculine  cha- 
racter. She  was  now,  according  to 
U 


142 


A   TOUR   ROUND   MY   PARLOUR. 


her  own  idea,  subjected  to  the  influ- 
ence of  an  accursed  spirit,  and  for  a 
moment  appalled  and  transfixed,  she 
durst  not  look  around.  But  her  rea- 
soning powers  rose  above  superhu- 
man terrors.  In  a  few  minutes,  she 
recollected  that  her  husband  was  too 
good  a  man  to  suppose  his  corpse 
could  be  degraded  by  the  approach 
of  demons,  or  his  wife  annoyed  by 
them  in  the  discharge  of  her  duty. 
Some  unhappy  person  must  be  con- 
fined in  a  vault  of  the  ruin,  and  she 
would  release  the  prisoner  at  the  risk 
of  her  life. 

After  a  tedious  examination  of 
every  aperture  in  the  floor  or  wall,  a 
rugged  stone  covered  with  sods  was 
accidentally  shoved  from  the  wall, 
and  an  iron  ring  appeared.  With  a 
great  exertion  of  strength  she  raised 
a  flag  attached  to  the  ring,  and  re- 
moved a  trap-door :  by  a  descent  of 
three  feet  she  reached  a  small  apart- 
ment, where  several  holes,  hardly 
large  enough  to  admit  a  man's  fin- 
ger, gave  some  air  and  a  few  rays  of 
light.  On  a  bed,  half  consumed  by 
damp,  lay  a  female  in  the  agonies  of 
dissolution.  Violetta  drew  her  from 
the  dungeon,  and  could  then  ascer- 
tain that  she  was  young,  and  had  been 
beautiful.  She  could  not  speak  to 
give  any  account  of  herself.     Her 


deliverer  offered  her  water ;  but  the 
aid  came  too  late  —  her  lips  could 
not  receive  it.  Her  spirit  soon  as- 
cended to  a  happier  world.  Violet- 
ta returned  her  emaciated  body  to 
the  place  that  had  been  her  living 
tomb,  and  to  preserve  all  that  was 
mortal  of  her  husband,  deposited 
the  loved  remains  in  the  same  asy- 
lum, where  no  wild  beast  could  de- 
face them.  While  replacing  the 
stone,  she  heard  the  drums  of  the 
British  army,  and  made  every  possi- 
ble effort  to  join  them ;  but  she  mis- 
took the  route,  and  fell  in  with  the 
French.  They  detained  her  several 
days  to  assist  as  a  hospital-nurse. 
She  related  her  adventure  at  the  ru- 
ined house,  and  the  few  women  who 
were  able  to  understand  her  bad 
French,  told  her  the  lady  must  have 
been  confined  by  a  jealous  husband, 
and  was  forgotten  when  the  invaders 
drove  the  Spaniards  away  and  pil- 
laged the  place. 

Violetta  pined  in  grief  for  her  hus- 
band, and  died  soon  after  she  escap- 
ed from  her  captors  and  joined  a 
brigade  of  his  countrymen.  This 
slight  memorial  is  dedicated  to  her 
humble  worth.  She  was  a  heroine, 
whose  actions  might  gild  an  exalted 
name. 


A  TOUR  ROUND  MY  PARLOUR. 


By  3. 

Touus  are  very  fashionable  things ; 
nobody,  now  of  the  least  pretension, 
takes  a  trip  to  Margate  or  Brighton, 
or  crosses  the  sea  and  sets  his  foot 
on  French  ground,  but  determines 
that  the  world  shall  know  all  about 
it;  sets  to  work  accordingly,  and  soon 
sends  forth  his  hot-pressed,  wire- 
wove,    rivulet  of  letter-press   in  a 


M.  L. 

meadow  of  margin,  to  an  indulgent 
and  discerning  public :  and  I  see  no 
reason  why  I  should  not  be  indulged 
by  having  my  little  tour  published, 
and,  if  the  fates  so  will  it,  admired. 
I  have  heard  of  a  gentleman,  a  fo- 
reigner I  believe,  who  published  a 
journey  round  his  bed-room;  but  I 
never  saw  the  work.  He  was  confin- 


A    TOUR    ROUND    MY    TARLOUR. 


143 


ed  for  a  certain  number  of  days  for 
some  infringement  on  military  strict- 
ness, and  amused  his  moments,  that 
would  have  otherwise  been  over- 
whelmed with  ennui,  by  making  the 
aforesaid  journey,  and  writing  his  re- 
marks upon  it. 

Being  seized  the  other  day  with 
a  bilious  attack,  which  obliged  me 
to  send  for  my  medical  man,  he  took 
the  liberty  of  ordering  me  into  con- 
finement for  a  few  days,  with  as  much 
indifference  as  the  general  comman- 
dant, I  dare  say,  ordered  the  gentle- 
man I  have  spoken  of  above  into  his. 
I  like  freedom  as  well  as  any  man, 
but,  at  the  same  time,  I  thought  it 
best  to  submit  under  existing  circum- 
stances, remembering  what  Cohnan 
has  said  in  his  tale  of  "  The  Fat  Sin- 
gle Gentleman:" 

"  For  when  ill  indeed, 
"  E'en  dismissing  the  doctor  don't  always  suc- 
ceed." 

On  the  second  day  of  my  impri- 
sonment, having  read  all  my  last  sup- 
ply of  magazines,  newspapers,  &c. 
and  having  sent  in  vain  to  the  libra- 
ry for  the  last  new  novel,  I  determin- 
ed, feeble  as  I  was,  and  little  able  or 
willing  to  walk,  to  take  a  tour  round 
my  parlour,  and  see  what  exercise 
would  do  for  me.  Methinks  I  per- 
ceive a  smile  of  contempt  on  some 
reader's  face  at  the  absurdity  of  such 
a  journey.  Stay,  my  good  sir,  or  ma- 
dam, till  you  have  gone  with  me  to 
the  end,  and  then  say  if  it  is  not  fa- 
tiguing enough. 

I  had  not  gone  far  before  the  idea 
struck  me,  of  recording,  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  public,  my  thoughts,  &c. 
during  this  perambulation.  I  almost 
think  I  am  indebted  to  the  circum- 
stance of  having  kicked  my  toe  against 
the  corner  of  my  writing-desk,  as  it 
lay  snugly  beneath   my  wife's  work- 


table  ;  and  that  dear  lady  being  out 
of  town  with  our  children,  may  also 
help  to  account  for  my  want  of  amuse- 
ment, and  the  consequent  writing  of 
the  present  article. 

I  drew  forth  the  desk,  opened  it, 
spread  writing  materials  upon  it, 
meaning  to  write  and  walk  alternate- 
ly till  I  had  completed  my  task ;  and 
first,  as  my  desk  formed  part  of  the 
furniture  of  the  room,  I  choose  to 
speak  of  it.  A  young  man,  a  parti- 
cular friend  of  mine,  who  died  some 
years  back,  bequeathed  it  to  me. 
This  circumstance  alone  endeared  it 
to  my  mind.  In  opening  the  drawer 
of  it  for  paper,  I  found  a  bundle  of 
his  letters ;  and  being  in  no  hurry  to 
finish  my  tour,  I  looked  first  at  one 
and  then  at  another  of  them,  till  I 
was  fairly  carried  back  to  many  a 
youtliiul  scene  and  recollection.  Here 
were  his  confidential  communica- 
tions, his  hopes  and  fears,  his  plea- 
sures and  pains;  now  a  description 
of  his  feelings  at  a  play,  and  now  his 
account  of  attending  a  funeral;  here 
a  touch  of  disappointment  in  love, 
and  there  a  rapturous  description  of 
his  Emily's  smiles;  and  anon,  an 
epistle,  direction  and  all,  in  rhyme: 
for,  like  myself,  he  sometimes  sinned 
in  verse,  as  well  as  prose.  Poor  fel- 
low !  he  died  young.  I  saw  him  laid 
in  his  grave.  Consumption,  the 
scourge  of  England,  carried  him  off; 
and  since  I  lost  him,  excepting  cer- 
tainly the  wife  of  my  bosom,  I  have 
had  no  one  to  whose  friendship  I 
could  confide,  as  I  did  to  his,  all 
my  thoughts,  even  my  weaknesses. 
Such  is  the  lot  of  most  men ;  they 
seldom  meet  with  above  one  friend 
like  this,  and  having  lost  him,  they 
scarcely  ever  have  confidence  enough 
in  those  who  are  left  around  them, 
to  seek  another:  they  have  acquaint- 
U  2 


144 


A    TOUR    KOUND    MY    rARLOl'K. 


ances  indeed,  but  rarely  any  thing 
more. 

I  must  get  away  from  my  desk, 
however,  or  I  shall  never  finish  my 
tour:  but  this  is  a  difficult  matter, 
for  here  are  many  of  my  own  MSS. 
and  we  all  know  how  pleasant  it  is 
to  a  scribbler  to  look  over  the  pro- 
ductions of  his  Muse,  for  every  man's 
Muse  is  to  him  a  Muse  of  fire;  and 
it  is  a  moot  point  if  I  shall  get  to  the 
end  of  my  tour  now,  without  giving 
the  world  one  or  more  of  my  poetic 
trifles :  however,  for  the  present,  I 
will  tear  myself  from  sonnets  to  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars ;  elegies  on  all 
sorts  of  subjects;  songs,  charades, 
acrostics,  &c.  &c.  and  go  on  with 
the  description  of  my  parlour. 

The  room  itself  is  a  complete  pa- 
rallelogram, and  situated  in  a  sound, 
well-built,  but  rather  old-fashioned 
house;  and  the  furniture  in  it  of  very 
various  styles,  from  the  circumstance 
of  some  of  it  having  belonged  to  my 
father  and  mother,  some  to  my  wife's 
progenitors,  and  some  recently  pur- 
chased: therefore  fairly  furnishing 
more  food  for  reflection,  than  if  it 
consisted  only  of  very  modern  mat- 
ters. Upon  rising  from  my  seat  to 
proceed  on  my  circuit  (for",  as  I  have 
said  before,  the  reader  must  fancy 
me  first  walking  and  then  writing),  I 
happened  to  lay  my  hand  on  the  ta- 
ble. Useful  friend,  thought  I,  thou 
shalt  be  next  in  my  description.  Its 
well-polished  surface  seemed  to  smile 
upon  me  in  return ;  and  there  is  of- 
ten more,  be  it  remembered,  in  the 
silence  of  a  good  table,  than  in  the 
garrulity  of  a  nonsensical  acquaint- 
ance. This  of  mine  is  one  that,  in 
its  uses,  is  something  like  the  cele- 
brated cobbler's  stall,  which 

"  Serv'd  him  for  parlour,  for  kitchen,  and 
all;" 


for  this  is  one  of  the  elliptic  modern 
tables,  often  found  stationary  in  the 
middle  of  a  parlour,  serving  alike 
for  breakfast,  dinner,  tea,  and  sup- 
per; for  intermediate  lunches;  for 
the  ladies'  work  sometimes,  when  of 
a  large  description ;  for  my  desk  to 
stand  on  at  this  moment  (not  but 
what  I  have  a  bit  of  a  study  up 
stairs);  and  sometimes  as  a  deposi- 
tory for  books,  magazines,  and  news- 
papers. But  when  accommodated 
witli  its  full  complement  of  additional 
pieces  or  flaps,  when  covered  with 
a  delicate  damask  cloth,  when  set 
out  with  the  best  display  of  ivory- 
handled  knives  and  forks,  the  best 
silver  spoons,  fish-slices,  &c.  &c.  &e. 
indicative  of  a  good  dinner,  and  a 
pleasant  party  of  friends,  then  does 
my  table  look  gloriously.  But  when 
it  is  covered  by  the  real  dinner  itself, 
when  it  is  surrounded  by  the  party 
of  real  friends,  when  grace  has  been 
said,  the  covers  removed,  and  "  the 
feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul" 
has  begun,  then  may  my  table  be 
proud  indeed  of  the  good  things  eat- 
en, drunk,  and  said  at  it.  What  a  his- 
tory might  such  a  piece  of  furniture 
give,  in  almost  any  house,  if,  like 
"  the  velvet  cushion,"  and  many  other 
inanimate  things  which  have  spoken, 
it  would  condescend  to  relate  it !  and 
I  almost  wonder  some  kind  good  soul 
of  a  book-maker  does  not  meet  with 
a  talkative  table,  and  publish  the  re- 
sult of  his  confabs  with  it. 

Stumbling  over  the  hearth-rug  in 
my  progress,  that  winter  comfort, 
but  now  scarcely  necessary  appendage 
to  a  room,  I  meet  with  the  recollec- 
tion that  it  was  worked  by  my  dear 
wife  when  at  school,  or  soon  after 
her  leaving  it;  and  choicely  hoarded, 
I  warrant,  in  some  up-stairs  closet, 
til!  she  got  married;  and  then  brought 


A    TOUR    ROUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


14.5 


out,  with  other  products  of  juvenile 
labour  and  art,  to  delight  a  fond 
husband.  It  is  now,  alas!  one  of 
the  has-beens;  dirty,  unconscious  feet 
have  trod  on  it  till  its  beauties  are 
no  more.  To  think  of  the  anxious 
hours  it  cost  in  making ;  the  trudg- 
ings  to  Newgate-street  for  worsteds 
of  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow ; 
the  fond  delights  which  arose  as 
flower  after  flower  grew  beneath  the 
fair  fingers  that  made  it,  till  Flora 
herself  might  have  almost  envied 
their  employ — it  is  too  much,  it  is 
indeed  a  cruel  business! 

Close  on  my  left  hand  is  the  fire- 
place,  that  peculiar  feature  in  an 
Englishman's  dwelling;  that  sacred 
seat  of  all  the  household  virtues; 
that  sanctum  sanctorum  from  all  the 
oppressions,  vexations,  and  troubles 
of  the  world  out  of  doors.  Here  the 
father  of  a  family,  if  a  good  and  a 
happy  man,  finds  a  solace  in  the  so- 
ciety of  those  he  loves,  which  amply 
recompenses  him  for  the  wrongs  and 
injuries  of  mankind.  Summer,  to  be 
sure,  is  not  the  fittest  season  for  the 
delights  of  an  Englishman  s  fire- 
side: the  bars  of  my  half-register 
are  now  very  bright,  and  the  orna- 
mental shavings  in  the  grate  very 
pretty;  but  winter  is  the  season  for 
true  enjoyment  here.  Christmas 
draws  many  a  party  round  the  hos- 
pitable man's  fire,  and  then  there  is 
a  pleasure  in  every  poke;  the  bright 
and  cheerful  flame  arises;  the  jest 
and  the  song  go  round,  and  we  are, 
for  a  time  at  least,  convinced  that 
this  life  is  not  without  its  joys.  Even 
at  this  period  of  the  year,  our  chairs 
often  occupy  the  same  situation  by 
the  fire-place  that  they  did  in  winter; 
and  habit  makes  us  sit  there,  though 
we  neither  want  warmth,  nor  should 
find  it  if  we  did.     I  have  more  than 


j  once  in  winter-time  apostrophized  my 
|  fire  in  verse :  some  years  back,  when 

a  bachelor,  I  paid  it  the  following 

compliment: 

Burn  bright,  my  friendly  fire; 

Shed  round  thy  warmest  smile; 
Thy  beams  I  most  admire 

When  wet  and  worn  with  toil. 

Thou  hear'st  my  sad  complaint, 

Nor  frown'st  upon  my  woe  ; 
Unlike  the  world's  restraint, 

Which  grief  is  doom'd  to  know. 

Thou  shar'st  my  brightest  joys, 
And  brighter smil'st  with  me; 

When  bliss  my  time  employs, 
None  gayer  then  than  thee. 

And  if  I  find  a  friend, 

That  friend  thou'lt  ever  share  ; 

Thy  kindliest  warmth  thou'lt  lend, 
To  chase  away  cold  care. 

Then  let  stern  Winter  frown, 
And  spread  his  snows  around  ; 

Whilst  storms  his  temples  crown, 
And  lakes  in  frost  are  bound. 

Let  winds  obey  his  will, 

And  sweep  the  pathless  plain  ; 

Whilst  roars  the  neighb'ring  rill, 
O'erflow'd  by  fallen  rain  : 

By  my  snug  fire  I  sit, 

The  embers  higher  pile, 
And  feast  on  attic  wit, 

That  draws  the  willing  smile  ; 

Or  with  my  pen  pourtray 

Some  storm-nipp'd  wand'rer's  doom, 
Who,  far  from  home  away, 

Has  found  an  early  tomb. 

All  hail,  then,  cheering  friend  ! 

Still  spread  thy  smiles  around  ; 
For  Winter  bids  us  bend, 

And  strews  with  snow  the  ground. 

Whither  might  not  fancy  lead  one 
in  contemplating  a  fire-place  ?  What 
a  history  of  invention  would  it  not 
afford,  to  trace  it  from  the  miserable 
contrivances  of  savage  life  to  the 
present  highly  ornamented,  and  as 
highly  useful,  stoves  and  grates!  Nor 
only  so;  but  the  principal  material, 
iron,  used  in  its  formation,  and  in 
that  of  its  accompaniments,  common- 


146 


A    TOUK    ROUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


ly   called  fire-irons,   might,   furnish 
a  complete  history  in  its  uses  and 
abuses:  but  certainly  its  usefulness 
far  counterbalances  its  abuse ;  though, 
in  furnishing  the  destructive  weapons 
of  war,  this  first  of  metals  has  truly 
been  much  abused.     But  if  I  go  on 
in  this  way,  I  shall  never  get  round 
my  parlour  in  any  reasonable  time: 
still  I   must  take  a  glance  at  the 
mantel-piece,  for  there  is  a  recollec- 
tion about  that.   It  is  now  of  hand- 
some marble,  but  within  a  very  few 
years  there  was  in  its  place  one  of 
those  lofty,  carved,  wooden  mantel- 
pieces that  are  still  to  be  occasional- 
ly met  with,  and  that  really  give  one 
rather   a    pleasurable    feeling   than 
not,  as  speaking  of  old  times  and  old 
friends.      And  then  the  ornaments 
(if  ornaments  they  be)  must  not  be 
passed  quite  in  silence.    First,  there 
is  the  centre  piece,  that  is  older  than 
I  am ;  it  was  my  father's,  and  repre- 
sents some  rustic  gentleman  or  other 
playing  on  that  most  delicious  instru- 
ment, the  bagpipe:  fortunately  this 
man's  is  silent,  or  I  should  give  up 
my  journey  and  the  history  of  it  in 
despair.   This  personage's  head  is  so 
contrived  as  to  hold  a  bouquet  of 
flowers,  at  which  times,  though  he 
may  be  said  to  have  a  watery  head, 
he  looks  as  fine  as  a  May-day  Jack 
in  the  green.     On  each  side  of  him 
are  a  modern  pair,  very  small,  but 
very  elegant,  and  placed  in  the  cen- 
tre, upon  the  true  military  principle, 
the  little  men  being  always  so  placed 
in  a  regiment:  these  are,  a  Persian 
lady  and  gentleman,  and  furnish  to 
me  the  remembrance  of  having  bought 
them  a  few  years  back  at  the  porce- 
lain-manufactory in    Derby,    where 
every   civility  was  shewn,    together 
with  the  whole  process,  and  a  most 
curious  one  it  is,  of  producing  the 


various  articles  of  earthen-ware  and 
porcelain,  from  the  plainest  cup  and 
saucer  to  the  most  elegant  and  high- 
ly finished  vase.  The  next  couple 
on  my  mantel-piece  are  a  rustic  boy 
and  girl,  the  first  fondling  a  dog, 
and  the  latter  a  lamb.  Next  to  these 
are  a  couple  of  rather  indecent  young 
lads,  nearly  in  the  Adam  and  Eve 
style  of  nakedness,  each  bearing  a 
basket  of  fruit:  whether  it  is  the 
forbidden  fruit  or  not,  I  cannot  say. 
Each  flank  (to  carry  on  my  military 
idea)  is  supported  by  a  monstrous 
grenadier  of  a  Turk,  finely  be-tur- 
banned  and  be-whiskered.  My  man- 
tel-piece, like  most  others  I  suppose, 
is  now  and  then  ornamented,  or,  as 
some  fastidious  folks  would  say,  dis- 
figured, by  a  variety  of  occasional 
matters,  such  as  an  orange  or  two, 
a  pair  of  lady's  gloves,  some  bottle 
of  medicine,  a  child's  toy,  &c.  &c: 
but  these  of  course  disappear  when 
the  room  is  put  to  rights,  as  it  is 
called. 

Immediately  right  and  left  of  the 
mantel-piece  are  a  pair  of  pretty 
painted  receptacles  for  letters,  &c. 
usually  called  card-racks ;  and  a  cu- 
rious jumble  they  often  contain — la- 
dies' and  gentlemen's  cards,  notes, 
and  epistles  of  all  sorts ;  recipes  for 
coughs  and  lemon-puddings;  milk- 
bills;  invitations  to  dinners  and  danc- 
es; nurse  Clarke's  or  Brown's  ad- 
dress; and  an  ad-injinitum  list  of 
other  matters. 

Over  the  chimney-piece  is  a  beau- 
tiful subject  for  reflection — a  hand- 
some glass — where,  upon  looking  in- 
to it,  no  lady  ever  yet  saw  a  plain 
woman,  or  a  gentleman  any  other 
than  a  good-looking,  honest  man. 
What  a  curious  and  a  beautiful  art 
is  the  making  of  glass,  and  this  pe- 
culiar application  of  it!    The   cir- 


A    TOUR    ROUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


147 


cumstance  of  the  poor  Indian,  who, 
upon  seeing  himself  reflected  in  one, 
tried  to  look  behind  it  for  the  person 
he  saw,  may  excite  a  smile  of  con- 
tempt in  the  ignorant,  but  it  can  only 
be  in  the  ignorant:  he  could  have 
taken  it  for  little  less  than  magic. 
How  much  more  astonished  would 
such  a  man  be  at  seeing  reflection 
combined  with  refraction,  and  at  be- 
holding the  beautiful  and  ever-vary- 
ing combinations  produced  in  the 
kaleidoscope  by  a  few  trumpery 
beads  and  bits  of  coloured  glass  ! 
And  how  much  more  still,  if  he  could 
be  made  to  comprehend  it,  at  the 
application  of  glass  in  telescopes, 
bringing  distant,  and  till  then  unseen 
and  unknown,  planetary  worlds  to 
view !  The  frame  too  of  this  chim- 
ney-glass, and  picture-frames  in  ge- 
neral, are  another  splendid  triumph 
of  art,  and  exquisitely  ornamental  in 
a  room. 

But  let  us  look  up.  Over  the  glass 
is  a  vote  of  thanks,  in  a  plain  black 
frame,  handsomely  written  on  vellum, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  To  me 
this  is  a  proud  matter,  to  the  world 
nothing.  It  simply  records  the  thanks 
of  a  plain  and  humble  set  of  trades- 
men, whose  rights  were  once  invaded, 
and  whom  I  was  the  means  of  re- 
dressing by  perseverance,  though  no 
lawyer,  against  an  intended  act  of 
oppression.  To  me,  as  I  said  before, 
it  is  a  proud  memento,  and  though 
little  ornamental,  I  hope  may  teach 
my  children,  when  I  am  gone,  to  as- 
sist others  as  far  as  they  are  able ; 
and  also  serve  to  convince  them,  that 
there  is  still  gratitude  enough  left  in 
the  world  to  thank  a  man  for  an  act  of 
kindness :  in  this  instance  it  was  all 
that  the  parties  could  afford  to  give, 
and  I  was  satisfied.  On  each  side 
of  this  vote  of  thanks,  and  bending 


over  it,  is  a  graceful  peacock's  fea- 
ther: even  these  have  a  reminis- 
cence ;  they  serve  to  remind  my  fa- 
mily of  a  favourite  and  beautiful  bird 
belonging  to  a  friend,  which  was 
much  admired  by  us.  The  poor 
creature  foolishly  left  his  master's 
grounds,  and  was  worried  by  some 
strange  dog  in  an  adjacent  field, 
where  these  feathers  were  afterwards 
picked  up,  so  that  they  are  literally 
a  memento  mori. 

Thank  heaven,  I  am  got  away  from 
the  fire-place ;  I  was  fearful  I  should 
have  been  kept  there  all  day.  Now 
I  shall  really  take  a  good  stride ;  for, 
behold,  I  am  at  the  china-closet-door 
in  the  corner  of  the  room.  The  key 
is  in  it;  I  may  as  well  just  peep  in. 
What  a  display!  Here  is  the  willow 
pattern  for  common  purposes;  here 
is  the  best  dinner  set,  whose  pattern 
has  a  name  I  dare  say,  but  I  do  not 
know  it,  and  none  of  the  initiated  are 
here  to  inquire  of.  Then  here  is  the 
flowered  and  gilt  supper  set,  and  the 
sandwich-tray  set.  Then  what  glo- 
rious tea-services !  simple  white  and 
gold  for  breakfast,  and  a  most  inde- 
scribably beautiful  pattern  (which  I 
leave  to  the  fancies  of  the  fair  sex) 
for  the  evening  party.  Then  here 
are  the  coffee-biggins,  the  tea-pots, 
the  urns,  the  milk-jugs,  sugar-basons, 
and  avast  lot  of  (to  me)  non-descrijrts. 
I  really  must  ask  the  names  of  them 
some  of  these  days,  for  it  is  vastly 
ignorant  I  dare  say  not  to  know  them. 
Then  in  glass-ware:  but  I  cannot 
recollect  half  the  names,  so  fancy 
will  do  the  thing  much  better  than 
I  shall,  and  I  may  be  able  to  get  for- 
ward a  little.  So,  there,  the  door  is 
shut  again,  and  nothing  broken.  But 
hold:  over  the  door  we  have  a  pic- 
ture of  a  volunteer,  one  of  the  Loyal 
London  Corps:  I  had  a  friend  in  it, 


148 


ADDRESS   TO   THE    It  MINE. 


and  therefore  very  civilly  gave  his 
corps  the  preference,  to  balance  a 
picture  of  the  uniform  of  the  corps 
I  belonged  to,  and  which  hangs  over 
the  corresponding  closet-door  behind 
me,  and  where  I  hope  to  end  my 
journey  before  night.  Mine  was  the 
B.  I.  C.  A. :  I  will  merely  give  the 
initials ;  but  they  will  be  known  to 
many  an  eye  as  typifying  the  name 
of  as  respectable  a  body  of  volunteers 
as  any  that  were  on  foot,  when  the 
system  was  at  its  height.  There  was 
much  said  for  and  against  the  British 
volunteers  at  the  time  they  were  em- 
bodied, but  now  that  they  are  no 
more  (excepting  indeed  a  horse-corps 
or  two),  it  will,  I  am  sure,  be  acknow- 
ledged by  every  unprejudiced  mind, 
that  there  was  a  period,  when  their 
discipline  was  at  its  best  (and  many 
of  them  were  highly  disciplined),  that 
these  men  would  have  formed  a  force 
quite  adequate  to  the  defence  of  their 
native  land,  then  threatened  with  in- 
vasion by  the  bad,  great  man,  as  he 
has  been  well  called,  Buonaparte. 
But   come,  enough  of  china-clo- 


sets and  volunteers ;  I  will  proceed : 
but  I  really  must  rest  a  moment  on 
this  sofa,  spread  so  invitingly  before 
me  at  the  end  of  the  room.  A  sofa? 
I  beg  pardon  ;  I  believe  I  ought  to 
have  called  it  couch;  nay  more,  Gre- 
cian couch.  Here  I  am  then,  hav- 
ing gone  one-fourth  of  my  tour,  re- 
posing on  a  Grecian  couch.  AY  hat 
a  luxury  to  a  poor,  fatigued  sick  tra- 
veller like  me !  Well,  now  I  am  here, 
what  can  I  say  about  this  very  de- 
lightful piece  of  furniture?  Shall  I 
apostrophize  it?  Let  me  see:  solace 
of  the  sick — friend  of  the  feeble — ■ 
soother  of  the  sorrowful — well-be- 
loved of  the  weary — delight  of  the 
distressed — charmer  of  childhood — 
bearer  of  the  beautiful!  (sometimes 
Imean,  notnow  of  course).  Really  one 
might  say  some  very  pretty  things  of 
a  sofa — a  couch  I  mean;  but  poor 
Cowper  has  already  written  so  much 
and  so  well  on  the  subject,  that  I 
must  even  be  content  to  request  the 
reader  to  peruse  the  opening  pages 
of  his  "  Task"  before  I  go  any  far- 
ther.      (To  be  continued.) 


ADDRESS  TO  THE  RHINE. 

A  free  Translation  from  the  German  of  Theod.  Korner*. 
What  feeling,  deep,  mysterious,  and  intense, 

To  the  blue  distance  warns  me  to  begone  ? 
Houses,  roofs,  walls  oppress  me.     I  must  hence  ; 

A  restless  yearning  still  impels  me  on. 

Forth  to  the  freer  air  my  spirit  flies ; 

Resistless,  the  strong  impulse  I  obey : 
The  feelings  of  my  heart,  as  they  arise, 

Shall  be  recorded  in  my  artless  lay. 

Not  to  the  splendid  porticos  of  Greece, 

Not  to  die  altars  of  immortal  Rome ; 
Westward  my  pilgrimage  in  search  of  peace — 

Thy  stream,  O  Rhine !  protects  my  native  home. 

There  life  and  love  with  stronger  pulses  beat ; 

There  the  soul  speaks  in  accents  more  sublime ; 
There  Freedom's  genius  hovers  o'er  the  seat 

Of  German  virtue  from  the  golden  time. 

*  Kornuu's  Remains,  vol.  II.  No.  I.  p.  241. 


THE   CASTLE   AND   THE   FARM. 


149 


To  thee  as  to  a  friend  the  bard  confess VI 
The  inmost  secrets  of  his  youthful  days  ; 

Thy  waves'  harmonious  murmur  sooth'd  his  breast, 
And  taught  poetic  cadence  to  his  lays. 

Then  welcome  to  thy  friendly  shores  again 

The  wand'rer,  in  whose  soul  still  brightly  burns 

The  love  of  country,  and  his  patriot  strains 
Shall  celebrate  the  day  when  he  returns. 

O  stream  rever'd,  accept  my  votive  song ! 

From  thee  my  earliest  virtues  were  imbibed ; 
My  faith,  my  gratitude  to  thee  belong ; 

To  thee  its  last  effusions  be  inscribed. 

Valeria. 


June  1823. 


THE  CASTLE  AND  THE  FARM, 

Or  the  Foster-Brothers  :  A  Tale. 
(Continued  from  p.  83.) 


Foil  a  short  time  after  the  depar- 
ture of  Frederic,  De  Beausejour 
behaved  with  more  than  usual  regu- 
larity :  but  he  could  not  long  support 
this  constraint ;  he  soon  fell  into  his 
old  habits,  and  his  excesses  speedily 
became  so  great,  that  the  marquis, 
in  despair  of  ever  reforming  him, 
began  to  think  of  applying  for  an  or- 
der to  shut  him  up  for  life. 

This  step  was  resolutely  opposed 
by  the  marchioness,  who  proposed, 
as  a  much  better  expedient,  to  unite 
the  comte  to  an  amiable  and  beauti- 
ful woman.  "  He  is  yet  so  young," 
said  she,  "  that  a  good  wife  may  do 
wonders  in  reforming  him." — "  But 
where  is  this  good  wife  to  be  found?" 
— u  I  will  tell  you.  You  shall  marry 
him  to  the  daughter  of  our  friend 
Volmar.  I  am  sure  be  would  glad- 
ly consent  to  the  match;  for  you  must 
remember  how  Volmar,  in  all  his  let- 
ters, spoke  to  us  of  the  beauty  of 
his  daughter;  and  the  last  time  he 
wrote,  he  sent  us  her  picture,  in  or- 

VoL  II.  No.  IX. 


der,  as  he  said,  that  we  might  judge 
that  his  praises  were  not  exaggerat- 
ed. After  this,  can  you  doubt  that 
he  wishes  for  the  match?  And  as 
to  Charles,  I  think  I  can  answer  for 
him.  He  looked  with  great  admi- 
ration at  the  picture  of  Adelaide, 
which,  to  say  the  truth,  is  one  of 
the  loveliest  portraits  I  ever  beheld. 
You  see  then,  my  dear  husband, 
there  is  no  obstacle  to  the  match, 
and  if  I  were  you,  I  would  write  to 
the  Vicomte  Volmar  without  delay." 
The  plan  of  the  marchioness  ap- 
peared so  feasible  and  reasonable, 
that  her  husband  resolved  to  adopt 
it.  He  wrote  immediately  to  request 
the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  de  Vol- 
mar for  his  son.  The  viscount,  en- 
chanted at  the  prospect  of  an  alliance 
which  he  had  always  desired,  return- 
ed an  answer,  signifying  the  pleasure 
which  the  marriage  would  give  to 
Madame  de  Volmar  and  himself,  pro- 
vided the  union  should  be  mutually 
agreeable  to  the  young  people,  for 
X 


150 


THE   CASTER   AND   THE    FARM; 


he  was  determined  never  to  force 
the  inclinations  of  Adelaide.  "  I 
have  for  a  long  time,"  continued  the 
viscount,  "  intended  to  bring  my  wife 
and  daughter  to  pay  you  a  visit;  you 
may  expect  us  now  very  soon,  and 
when  our  children  are  under  the 
same  roof,  we  shall  soon  see  whether 
our  project  can  be  put  in  practice 
consistently  with  their  happiness." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  mar- 
riage will  take  place,"  cried  the  mar- 
chioness with  vivacity,  as  her  hus- 
band finished  reading  the  viscount's 
letter ;  "  Charles  is  so  handsome,  it 
is  impossible  that  Mademoiselle  de 
Volmar  can  help  loving  him." — "Ah ! 
my  dear,"  cried  De  Blainmore,  "  you 
speak  like  a  mother.  Charles  is 
handsome  I  allow,  but  then  his  man- 
ners, 'so  abrupt,  so  haughty,  and  at 

times  even  so  repulsive " — "  Well, 

well,"  cried  the  marchioness,  "  he 
will  correct  all  that;  let  me  alone  to 
talk  to  him."  She  hastened  to  an- 
nounce to  the  comte  the  projected 
marriage;  but  what  was  her  anger 
and  vexation  when  Charles  positively 
refused  to  consent !  Arguments  and 
entreaties  were  vain;  he  continued 
to  reply,  that  marriage  was  a  slavery 
to  which  he  would  not  submit;  and 
he  quitted  his  mother  apparently  un- 
moved by  the  tears  with  which  she 
urged  her  purpose. 

Madame  de  Blainmore  hastened 
to  report  her  ill  success  to  her  hus- 
band, who,  irritated  at  the  sight  of 
her  grief,  now  protested  that  he 
would  employ  the  most  rigorous  mea- 
sures to  prevent  his  son  from  farther 
disgracing  his  name.  By  some  means 
or  other  the  comte  obtained  informa- 
tion of  his  father's  projects;  but  this 
discovery,  instead  of  rendering  him 
more  submissive  to  parental  autho- 
rity, only  encouraged  him  to  throw 


it  off  entirely.  He  had  for  a  long 
time  felt  impatient  even  of  the  slight 
restraint  laid  upon  him,  and  as  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  not  to  marry, 
he  resolved  to  evade  the  anger  of  his 
father  by  privately  withdrawing  from 
the  castle.  He  took  an  opportunity, 
during  the  absence  of  the  marquis, 
of  entering  his  chamber,  forcing  the 
lock  (bi  his  desk,  and  taking  from  it 
a  considerable  sum  in  gold,  with  which 
he  escaped,  and  was  completely  out 
of  his  father's  reach  before  the  money 
was  missed.  The  De  Blainmores 
were  inconsolable  for  the  degeneracy 
of  their  son,  and  the  inhabitants  of 
the  farm  partook  of  their  grief;  nor 
could  Maurice,  when  alone  with  his 
wife,  avoid  contrasting  the  conduct 
of  De  Beausejour  with  that  of  Fre- 
deric. Margaret  listened  in  silence 
and  tears ;  for  even  her  love  for  the 
comte  was  not  proof  against  this  last 
instance  of  depravity. 

The  unfortunate  parents  knew  not 
how  to  announce  to  the  Vicomte  de 
Volmar  the  shameful  conduct  of  their 
son;  but  they  were  spared  this  mor- 
tification by  receiving  a  letter  from 
De  Volmar,  in  which,  without  enter- 
ing into  any  detail,  he  informed  them 
that  a  recent  misfortune  had  plunged 
his  family  into  the  deepest  grief,  and 
forced  him  to  defer  for  some  time  his 
intended  visit  to  the  castle.  This 
letter  relieved  them  from  the  neces- 
sity of  explaining  to  their  friend  that 
Charles  had  quitted  them.  The  mar- 
quis caused  the  strictest  inquiries  to 
be  made  after  him,  but  to  no  pur- 
pose; and  the  unfortunate  parents 
shut  themselves  up,  to  lament  in  so- 
litude the  depravity  of  the  last  scion 
of  their  ancient  house. 

Let  us  now  see  what  has  become 
of  Frederic,  who  quitted  the  castle 
without  any  fixed  plan,  and  with  a 


THE    CASTLK    AND    THE    l'AKM. 


151 


small  sum  of  money.  He  hastened 
to  Paris,  in  the  hope  of  finding  there 
the  means  of  a  livelihood  from  his 
talents.  A  chance  meeting  with  his 
former  preceptor,  M.  Robert,  opened 
to  him  a  sure  and  honourable  path 
to  fortune:  that  worthy  man,  who 
was  then  professor  of  mathematics 
in  the  Marine  College,  was  delighted 
to  see  his  former  pupil  again ;  he  of- 
fered to  procure  him  the  post  of  mid- 
shipman in  one  of  the  vessels  then 
going  to  attack  Algiers.  Frederic 
accepted  the  offer  with  joy,  and  in  a 
few  weeks  he  sailed  under  the  com- 
mand of  Captain  d'Amfreville. 

As  it  is  not  our  intention  to  give 
the  details  of  this  expedition,  which 
effectually  checked  the  insolence  and 
inhumanity  of  the  Algerines,  we  shall 
only  say,  that  the  brave  squadron, 
of  which  M.  Duquesne  was  com- 
mander, succeeded  in  forcing  the 
Algerines  to  make  reparation  for  the 
piracies  they  had  already  committed, 
and  to  sue  for  peace  in  the  humblest 
terms. 

While  the  treaty  was  going  for- 
ward, some  of  the  officers  several 
times  visited  the  town  of  Algiers.  Fre- 
deric, whose  merit  had  raised  him 
to  the  rank  of  a  lieutenant,  frequent- 
ly accompanied  Captain  d'Amfreville. 
In  one  of  these  visits  Frederic  left 
his  captain  conversing  with  the  aga, 
with  whom  he  was  treating  respect- 
ing the  deliverance  of  the  Christian 
captives,  which  was  a  main  point  in 
the  treaty,  and  strolled  near  the  pa- 
lace of  the  pacha.  As  he  was  walk- 
ing deep  in  thought,  he  was  accosted 
by  a  veiled  female.  "  You  are  a 
Christian,"  said  she,  "  and  a  French 
officer;  you  must  then  be  a  man  of 
courage  and  humanity.  Will  you 
preserve  the  life  and  honour  of  a 
young  and  beautiful  countrywoman 


of  your  own?" — "  Assuredly,"  re- 
plied Frederic:  "  only  tell  me  how." 
— "  At  this  moment,"  replied  she, 
"  it  is  impossible ;  but  if  you  will  re- 
main on  shore,  and  come  to  night 
at  twelve  o'clock  to  the  Boulevard 
of  the  Renegades,  I  will  meet  you 
near  the  palace  of  the  Aga  Mah- 

mud."  —  "    But  tell  me "  —  "  I 

dare  not  remain  another  moment : 
in  the  name  of  honour  and  humanity 
do  not  fail,  and  keep  a  boat  in  rea- 
diness." At  these  words  she  walked 
hastily  away,  leaving  Frederic  in  no 
small  perplexity  how  to  act.  A  little 
reflection,  however,  determined  him 
to  keep  the  appointment;  but  we 
may  easily  conceive  that  he  thought 
the  hours  long  till  twelve  o'clock  ar- 
rived. A  few  minutes  before  it  struck, 
he  was  at  the  appointed  spot:  he 
perceived  that  one  of  the  windows 
of  the  first  floor  of  Mahmud's  house 
was  open,  a  rope-ladder  was  thrown 
from  it  by  the  female  to  whom  he 
had  spoken  in  the  morning,  and  Fre- 
deric accepted,  without  hesitation, 
her  invitation  to  mount  it.  The  slave, 
then  taking  him  by  the  hand,  con- 
ducted him  softly,  and  without  a 
light,  through  a  long  gallery,  at  the 
end  of  which  she  threw  open  a  door, 
and  entered  with  him  an  apartment 
richly  furnished;  at  the  upper  end 
of  it  a  lady,  magnificently  dressed 
and  veiled,  was  seated  upon  a  sofa. 
She  advanced  to  meet  him,  and 
throwing  back  her  veil,  discovered 
to  Frederic  a  face  and  figure  of  un- 
equalled beauty.  She  was  still  very 
young,  and  the  lustre  of  her  com- 
plexion was  heightened  by  the  deep 
glow  which  suffused  her  lovely  coun- 
tenance as  she  addressed  the  young 
officer.  "  It  is  from  you,  generous 
countryman,  that  an  unfortunate  cap- 
tive hopes  for  her  liberation,,  I  am 
X  o 


loll 


THE   CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


the  daughter  of  a  noble  house,  and 
in  a  voyage  which  I  recently  made 
with  a  near  relation,  I  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  captured  by  Mahmud, 
and  the  still  greater  one  o£  inspiring 
him  with  a  violent  passion.  Hitherto 
he  has  treated  me  with  respect,  but 
irritated  by  my  constant  refusal  of 
his  vows,  he  has  at  last  declared  a 
resolution  to  have  recourse  to  force. 
Without  your  assistance  then,  sir, 
death  must  be  my  portion,  for  it  is 
by  death  alone  that  I  can  escape  dis- 
honour." 

"  Fear  not,  madam,"  interrupted 
Frederic  with  vivacity:  "  Mahmud 
has  no  longer  a  right  over  you.  We 
have  agreed  that  all  the  Christian 
captives  are  to  be  liberated.  I  will 
inform  the  admiral  of  Mahmud's 
shameful  breach  of  the  treaty,  and 
to-morrow " — "  Ah !"  interrupt- 
ed she  mournfully,  "  you  know  not 
Mahmud:  the  moment  that  he  re- 
ceives an  order  to  give  me  liberty, 
he  will  immolate  me  to  the  fury  of 
his  jealous  rage:  it  is  you  alone  that 
can  restore  me  to  my  country." 

Frederic  could  not  resist  the  sup- 
plicating tone  in  which  these  words 
■were  uttered:  he  eagerly  assured 
the  beautiful  unknown  that  she  might 
command  him ;  he  was  ready  to  risk 
every  thing  for  her  service.  "  Thanks, 
generous  stranger,"  cried  she;  "  I 
hope  that  at  this  moment  the  risk 
will  not  be  great.  Mahmud  has  re- 
ceived orders  to  command  during 
two  days  the  troops  at  the  palace : 
confident  of  the  fidelity  of  Bertholda, 
he  has  committed  me  to  her  care,  leav- 
ing some  trusty  slaves  as  our  guards: 
knowing  that  it  would  be  hopeless 
to  corrupt  the  fidelity  of  these  men, 
she  has  contrived  to  administer  a 
sleeping  draught  to  them,  and  they 
will  not  recover  from  its  effects  till 


the  morning  is  far  advanced.  She 
has  also  contrived  to  procure  sea- 
men's dresses  for  herself  and  me : 
our  escape  from  this  house  is  there- 
fore easy  and  certain,  and  if  you 
have,  as  I  hope,  a  boat  in  waiting, 
you  can  easily  convey  us  on  board 
your  ship." 

As  Frederic  had  fortunately  taken 
the  precaution  to  desire  two  of  the 
sailors  to  keep  a  boat  in  readiness, 
he  begged  the  lady  to  hasten  her  de- 
parture. She  quitted  the  room,  and 
returned  in  a  few  minutes  with  ner 
slave  disguised  as  sailors.  The  fair 
face  of  the  lovely  incognita  was  suf- 
fused with  blushes,  as  she  timidly, 
and  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  said 
to  Frederic,  "  We  are  ready."  Ber- 
tholda led  the  way  to  the  apartment 
by  the  window  of  which  Frederic 
had  entered :  he  descended  by  means 
of  the  rope-ladder,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments received  in  his  arms  the  fair 
stranger,  who,  checking  by  a  strong 
effort  the  emotions  she  was  evidently 
agitated  with,  besought  him  to  lose 
no  time  in  gaining  the  boat.  Little 
more  than  an  hour  brought  them  to 
it:  the  night  was  calm,  and  they  soon 
reached  the  vessel  in  safety. 

The  first  care  of  Frederic  was  to 
procure  his  fair  companion  some  re- 
freshment, and  to  install  her  and 
Bertholda  in  the  possession  of  his 
cabin.  He  then  awaited  the  rising 
of  Captain  d'Amfreville,  to  whom  he 
related  what  he  had  done,  and  found 
the  brave  seaman  delighted  at  his 
having  been  the  means  of  restoring 
a  countrywoman  to  liberty ;  but  when 
the  lieutenant  spoke  of  her  extraor- 
dinary beauty,  D'Amfreville  told  him, 
laughing,  to  take  care,  that  in  giv- 
ing her  freedom  he  had  not  lost  his 


own. 


What  were  the   feelings  of  Frc- 


TJIK    CASTLE    AND    THE    FARM. 


]5:5 


dcric  when,  in  Ins  next  interview  with 
the  fair  stranger,  he  learned  that  it 
was  the  destined  bride  of  Charles 
whom  he  had  snatched  from  death  or 
dishonour !  Adelaide,  in  revealing 
her  name  and  rank,  mentioned  also 
the  alliance  projected  by  the  mar- 
quis and  the  vicomte.  "  It  was," 
continued  she,  "  a  few  days  after  my 
father  had  answered  the  marquis's 
letter,  that  my  uncle,  the  Comte  de 
St.  Foix,  a  bachelor,  who  designed 
me  for  his  heir,  solicited  permission 
from  my  parents  to  take  me  with  him 
to  Barcelona.  As  he  was  speedily 
to  return,  and  they  knew  that  he 
would  not  only  be  grieved,  but  offend- 
ed by  the  refusal  of  his  request,  they 
consented;  and  we  set  sail,  little 
imagining  what  misfortunes  we  were 
about  to  encounter.  A  violent  tem- 
pest drove  us  out  of  our  course, 
and  scarcely  had  it  subsided,  when 
we  were  attacked  by  an  Algerine 
vessel,  commanded  by  Mahmud.  Ah, 
heaven !  never  can  I  forget  the  hor- 
rors of  that  combat !  My  poor  uncle 
perished ;  the  greater  part  of  our  crew 
shared  his  fate ;  and  after  a  scene  of 
carnage,  terrible  to  think  of,  our 
vessel  struck  to  the  corsair." 

We  need  not  repeat  the  warm 
thanks  to  her  deliverer  with  which 
the  fair  Adelaide  concluded  her  nar- 
rative. Her  expressions  of  grati- 
tude deeply  penetrated  a  heart  al- 
ready but  too  sensible  of  her  charms. 
Love  was  a  passion  to  which  Fre- 
deric had  hitherto  been  a  stranger ; 
but  the  little  tyrant,  whom  at  some 
time  or  other  we  must  all  obey,  now 
asserted  his  power:  he  reigned  tri- 
umphantly over  the  heart  of  Fre- 
deric, who,  conscious  of  the  hope- 
lessness of  his  passion,  strove  to  dis- 
guise its  existence  from  himself.    He 


was  roused  from  this  delusion  by 
D'Amfreville's  asking  him  one  day 
abruptly,  whether  he  had  any  hope 
of  marrying  Mademoiselle  de  Vol- 
mar.  "  I '."exclaimed  Frederic;  "good 
heaven,  captain,  how  can  you  think 
I  could  entertain  such  a  presumptu- 
ous idea?" — "  Why  truly,  my  good 
friend,  when  a  handsome  young  fel- 
low shews  clearly  to  a  beautiful  girl 
that  he  loves  her  to  distraction,  one 
may  be  forgiven  for  supposing  that 
he  hopes  to  marry  her." — "  But  my 
birth  forbids  even  the  possibility  of 
indulging  such  an  idea." — "  I  am 
afraid  it  does,"  replied  D'Amfreville 
in  a  serious  tone,  "  and  it  is  for  that 
reason  that  I  wish  to  rouse  you  to  a 
sense  of  the  folly  which  you  are 
guilty  of,  a  folly  which  promises  not 
only  to  embitter  your  own  days,  but 
those  of  Mademoiselle  de  Volmar. 
Nay,  hear  me,"  continued  the  honest 
seaman,  silencing  by  a  motion  of  his 
hand  the  impetuous  Frederic :  "  lul- 
led in  a  false  security,  you  conceal 
from  yourself  not  only  the  love  which 
you  feel  for  the  lady,  but  that  with 
which  you  have  inspired  her.  It  is 
true  you  have  not  owned  your  pas- 
sion, but  does  not  every  look  betray 
it?  and,  ignorant  as  she  is  of  the 
insuperable  bars  to  your  union,  may 
not  she  reasopably  flatter  herself 
that  circumstances  will  induce  her 
father  to  break  off  the  intended  match, 
in  order  to  bestow  her  upon  you,  to 
whose  bravery  alone  it  is  owing  that 
he  has  recovered  her?  You  know 
this  cannot  be,  and  by  suffering  her 
to  remain  in  this  delusion,  you  be- 
come the  destroyer  of  her  peace." 
The  conscience-struck  Frederic  was 
for  a  moment  silent;  at  length  he 
asked,  in  a  faltering  voice,  "  What 
would  you   have   me  do?" — "   See 


1.51 


THE    CONFESSIONS    OF    A    RAMBLER. 


her  as  seldom  as  you  can,  and  re- 
nounce your  intention  of  conveying 
her  to  her  friends." 

Frederic  assented  to  the  first  of 
these  propositions,  but  no  arguments 
could  induce  him  to  agree  to  the  last. 
He  persisted  in  declaring  that  it  was 
a  sacred  duty  for  him  to  convey  Ade- 
laide to  her  parents;  and  the  cap- 
tain, satisfied  with  having  warned  him 
of  his  danger,  and  with  seeing  that 
he  avoided  Mademoiselle  de  Volmar 
as  much  as  he  could,  ceased  to  con- 
test the  point. 

The  innocent  Adelaide,  who  never 
suspected  either  the  state  of  her  own 
heart  or  that  of  Frederic,  was  sen- 
sibly grieved  at  his  cold  and  altered 
manner.     She  was  sometimes  on  the 


I  point  of  asking  in  what  she  had  of- 
|  fended  him,  but  a  natural  timidity 
sealed  her  lips.  Frederic,  true  to 
the  good  resolutions  which  he  had 
formed,  saw  her  very  rarely,  even 
after  he  parted  from  D'Amfrcville 
to  convey  her  to  Marseilles,  which  at 
length  they  reached  in  safety.  Who 
can  paint  the  joy  of  the  parents  when 
they  once  more  pressed  to  their  bo- 
soms that  beloved  child  of  whom 
they  thought  death  had  deprived 
them?  for  it  was  universally  believed 
that  the  vessel  in  which  their  darling 
sailed,  had  been  wrecked  in  the  vi- 
olent storm  that  happened  soon  after 
her  departure. 

(  To  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  RAMBLER, 


No.  I. 


We  have  had  the  "  Confessions  of 
an  Opium-eater"  of  u  A  Drunkard," 
of  "  A  Glutton,"  and  of  various  other 
odd  fish  and  queer  animals :  now  I 
flatter  myself  that  the  "  Confessions 
of  a  Rambler,"  of  one  who  has  tra- 
versed various  climes,  and  observed 
men  and  manners  in  different  coun- 
tries as  well  as  his  own,  may  be 
quite  as  entertaining,  perhaps  more 
instructive,  and  certainly  as  moral, 
as  any  of  those  above-mentioned. 

"  I  have  observed,"  says  Addison, 
"  that  a  reader  seldom  peruses  a  book 
with  pleasure,  till  he  knows  whether 
the  writer  of  it  be  a  black  or  a  fair 
man,  of  a  mild  or  choleric  disposition, 
married  or  a  bachelor,  with  other 
particulars  of  a  like  nature,  that  con- 
duce very  much  to  a  right  under- 
standing of  the  author."  This  opi- 
nion of  our  great  moral  essayist  is 
so  gi'atifying  to  the  variety  of  us  irri- 
table beings,  who  are  often  "  tickled 


with  a  feather,"  that  I  will  not  labour 
to  disprove  it,  but  rather  encourage 
belief  in  its  truth,  by  letting  my  read- 
ers a  little  into  the  secret  of  my  own 
family  history. 

It  is  to  be  presumed  that  I  had 
a  father  and  mother,  though  I  never 
knew  either;  for  as  Nature  never  yet 
sent  a  man  into  the  world  without 
those  necessary  adjuncts,  I  do  not 
imagine  myself  to  be  an  exception. 
My  earliest  recollections  lead  me  to 
a  neat  and  pleasant  mansion,  situat- 
ed in  a  village  in  Norfolk,  not  a 
hundred  miles  removed  from  the 
county-town  of  that  portion  of  the 
kingdom,  where  lived  my  dear  aunt 
Tabitha,  with  an  establishment  com- 
posed of  a  young  woman,  who  resid- 
ed with  her  as  a  companion,  and 
whom  I  well  remember,  for  her  beau- 
ty and  sweetness  deeply  interested 
and  engaged  my  young  heart.  There 
was  too  an  old  servant,  who  oflicia- 


THE    CONFESSIONS    OF    A    RAMBLER. 


15  J 


ted  as  butler,  steward,  footman,  and 
indeed  in  half  a  dozen  other  capaci- 
ties besides.  He  had  resided  in  the 
family  ever  since  he  was  an  urchin 
about  as  high  as  my  knee,  and,  from 
his  long  servitude,  thought  himself 
entitled  to  "  speak  his  mind  freely," 
as  he  called  it,  which  meant,  being 
at  times  downright  impertinent  and 
saucy;  a  fault  that  was  tolerated, 
partly  on  account  of  his  old  and 
faithful  services,  and  partly  on  ac- 
count of  his  affection  for  his  mistress, 
which  was  so  great,  that  I  very  well 
recollect,  "  once  upon  a  time"  when 
my  aunt  was  severely  indisposed,  ho- 
nest John  fell  sick  from  sympathy, 
and  absolutely  kept  his  bed  tiil  Ta- 
bitha  recovered,  when  he  wept  for 
joy,  and  was  in  a  day  or  two  capable 
of  going  about  his  numerous  avoca- 
tions as  intently  and  as  saucily  as 
ever.  Then  there  was  the  house- 
keeper, "  Mrs.  Mayflower,"  as  she 
always  insisted  upon  being  called  by 
her  companions  in  the  kitchen,  whilst 
in  the  parlour  she  was  "  Mistress 
Mary,"  She  was  a  fine  old  ever- 
green, and  I  think  I  now  hear  her 
describing  the  conquests  of  her 
"  youthful  days,"  talking  of  the  ha- 
voc she  made  among  the  hearts  of 
the  party-coloured  gentry,  and  tel- 
ling her  favourite  love-tale  of  how 
"  the  young  Lord  Poppleton  was 
smitten  with  her  charms,  and  was 
obliged  to  be  sent  the  grand  tour, 
because  his  father  the  earl  and  his 
mother  the  countess  were  afraid  he 
should  disgrace  their  noble  blood 
by  marrying  farmer  Mayflower's 
daughter."  Heaven  rest  her  soul ! 
for  the  grave  has  long  since  closed 
over  her.  Well,  we  had  besides  a 
boy  to  run  of  errands,  a  little  girl  to 
wait  upon  Mrs.  Mayflower  and  her 
mistress  alternately,    and  Betty  the 


cook,  who  possessed  one  of  the  best- 
natured  rosy-cheeked  countenances 
I  ever  beheld.  These,  with  two  pug- 
dogs,  a  tabby  cat,  and  a  parrot,  con- 
stituted my  worthy  aunt's  household. 
Of  that  aunt  herself  I  have  yet  to 
speak.  She  was  one  of  the  best  crea- 
tures breathing — she  was  charity  it- 
self— meek,  humble,  and  obliging. 
She  hated  the  formal  pride  of  mo- 
dern manners,  and  loved  the  patri- 
archal simplicity  of  the  olden  time, 
when  the  master  and  his  dependents 
sat  ;*t  the  same  table,  and  when  the 
roof  under  which  the  latter  was  born 
sheltered  his  declining  age. 

Ne  flattery  did  corrupt  her  truth, 
Ne  pompous  title  did  debauch  her  ear  ; 
Goody,  good   woman,    gossip,   n'aunt,  for- 
sooth, 
Or  dame,  the  sole  additions  she  did  bear. 

The  worthy  Lady  Bountiful  of  the 
village,  she  understood  some  little 
of  pharmacy: 

Herbs  too  she  knew,  and  well  of  each  could 

speak. 
That  in  her  garden  sipp'd  the  silvery  dew  j 

and  though  no  Puritan,  she  some- 
times administered  real  christian  ad- 
vice and  consolation,  with  assistance 
of  another  kind.  In  her  neighbour- 
hood she  was  beloved,  in  her  family 
adored. 

In  that  family  then  I  lived,  a  mer- 
ry urchin  ten  years  of  age,  careless 
and  gay,  recking  little  how  the  world 
wagged  if  I  could  but  enjoy  my  fro- 
licsome sports,  and  see  my  dear  aunt 
smile  upon  me.  Now  I  am  a  staid 
sober  man,  thirty  summers  have  pass- 
ed over  my  head  since  that  happy 
period  when 

Careless  I  roved  in  youth's  joyful  day: 

if  I  am  not  wiser,  at  least  I  have  more 
knowledge  of  the  world ;  if  I  am  not 
more  rational,  1  have  learned  to  ex- 
pect less  from  my  fellow-men — I  have 
formed  juster  notions  of  things.     I 


156 


THE    BEGGAll-WOMAN    OP   THE    CHAUSSEE    D  ANTIN. 


am  still  a  bachelor,  unblessed  with 
that  "  good  thing,"  a  "  good  wife;" 
but  shall  be  very  happy  to  enter  the 
nuptial  state  with  any  lady  who  is 
good-tempered  and  amiable  in  dispo- 
sition, lovely  in  person,  accomplish- 
ed, and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  and 
not  more  than  five  and  twenty.  As 
to  money,  as  I  have  enough  for  both, 


I  care  not  whether  she  has  any  or 
not.  If  such  a  one  should  be  inclin- 
ed to  join  her  fortunes  with  an  honest, 
though  rather  a  capricious,  mortal, 
I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  from  her; 
and,  when  once  tied  in  wedlock's 
holy  bond,  she  will  not  find  me 

A  Rambler. 

Ebohacum. 


THE  BEGGAR-WOMAN  OF  THE  CHAUSSEE  D'ANTIN. 


As  the  Marquis  de  Rosny  was  one 
morning  turning  the  corner  of  a 
street  in  the  Chaussee  d'Antin,  his 
charity  was  solicited  by  an  old  wo- 
man in  the  following  terms:  "  Sir,  for 
the  sake  of  her  you  love  best  give  a 
sous  to  a  poor  miserable  creature!" 
De  Rosny  stopped  and  surveyed  the 
supplicant  with  a  look  of  pity.  She 
was  bent  nearly  double,  and  appeared, 
either  from  age  or  infirmity,  scarce- 
ly able  to  support  herself  with  the 
aid  of  a  crutch.  "  The  day  is  too 
cold  for  you  to  be  out,  my  good  wo- 
man," said  the  marquis.  "  You  seem 
to  be  ill,  go  home  and  nurse  yourself 
a  little."  As  he  spoke,  he  slipped 
ten  francs  into  her  hand.  "  Now  may 
all  the  saints  bless  your  bountiful 
heart!"  cried  the  beggar;  "  and  yet 
it  goes  against  my  conscience  to  take 
your  money." — "  And  why?" — "  Be- 
cause it  is  more  than  you  ought  to 
give,  after  losing  so  much  as  you  did 
last  night." 

"  How  do  you  know  of  my  loss?" 
cried  the  surprised  De  Rosny.—"  Oh, 
I  have  a  little  bird,  who  whispered 
the  matter  to  me,  and  told  me  also 
how  you  might  retrieve  it,  if  you  were 
not  too  proud  to  take  advice." — 
"  What  advice  do  you  mean  to  give 
me." — "  Play  with  the  Italian  till  you 
retrieve  the  amount  of  your  loss,  and 
then  desist:  quit  the  tabic  that  mo- 


ment," continued  she  earnestly,  "  or 
else  you  are  a  ruined  man." — "  Tru- 
ly, my  good  mother,  you  perplex  me 

not  a  little.    Can  you  suppose " 

— "  I  suppose  nothing ;  I  do  not  go  on 
conjecture  but  facts :  I  tell  you  the 
Italian  is  a  sharper,  who  will  strip 
you  of  your  last  penny  if  you  give 
him  an  opportunity." 

The  comic  was  struck  by  the  ear- 
nestness of  her  manner,  though  he 
was  not  superstitious  enough  to  put 
any  faith  in  her  prediction.  To  his 
surprise,  however,  it  was  verified: 
he  recovered  that  evening  the  money 
he  had  lost  on  the  preceding  one,  and 
the  excessive  importunity  with  which 
the  Italian  urged  him  to  play  on 
roused  his  suspicions :  he  had  conse- 
quently the  prudence  to  decline  play- 
ing any  more,  to  his  antagonist's  evi- 
dent disappointment. 

The  following  morning  De  Rosny 
hastened  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
seen  the  old  woman  on  the  preced- 
ing day,  but  she  was  not  there,  and 
for  several  days  he  sought  her  in  vain. 
The  love  of  gaming  was  the  comles 
principal  failing,  and  his  unsuspecting 
disposition  rendei'ed  him  too  often 
the  prey  of  sharpers,  but  this  adven- 
ture made  him  for  some  time  cau- 
tious whom  he  played  with.  He  was 
challenged  one  evening  by  a  Russian, 
who  seemed  to  have  little  skill,  but 


THE    BKGGAK-WOMAN    OF    THE    CHAUSSEK    D  ANTIM. 


157 


who  talked  with  all  the  confidence  of 
a  first-rate  player.  De  Rosny  refus- 
ed his  challenge,  and  laughed  at  his 
gasconade;  but,  in  spite  of  himself, 
he  soon  became  nettled  at  the  sar- 
castic compliments  which  the  other 
paid  to  his  prudence:  he  engaged, 
with  a  determination  not  to  suffer 
himself  to  be  drawn  into  deep  play; 
but  he  was  no  match  for  the  arts  of 
the  Russian,  and  in  a  few  hours  he 
had  lost  a  sum,  the  payment  of  which 
would  leave  him  nearly  a  beggar. 

"  You  will  give  me  a  few  days  to 
raise  this  money,"  said  he  to  his  an- 
tagonist as  he  rose  from  the  table. — 
"  Oh !  certainly,"  replied  the  Russian : 
"  I  had  intended  to  leave  Paris  to- 
morrow, but  a  day  or  two  will  not 
signify."  These  words  made  it  evi- 
dent to  poor  De  Rosny,  that  the  ba- 
ron, with  all  his  politeness,  wanted 
the  money  as  soon  as  he  could  get  it. 
He  retired  with  a  calm  countenance, 
but  a  heart  bursting  with  anguish  and 
self-reproach,  and  early  the  following 
morning  he  sent  for  his  notary,  to 
whom  he  gave  directions  to  sell  his 
estates  immediately.  The  notary  be- 
gan to  dissuade  him  from  parting 
with  them  at  this  moment,  because 
it  was  a  very  bad  time  to  sell.  "  No 
words,  sir,"  cried  the  comte,  fiercely 
interrupting  him;  "  1  tell  you  it  must 
be  done  instantly."  The  notary, 
half  frightened  and  half  affronted,  re- 
plied that  he  should  be  obeyed,  and 
hastily  retired. 

Left  to  himself,  De  Rosny  tried  to 
collect  his  thoughts,  and  to  devise 
some  plan  for  the  future :  but  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  arrange  any 
that  seemed  feasible;  and  he  was 
pacing  his  chamber  in  a  most  pitia- 
ble state  of  mental  anguish,  when  the 
sound  of  a  strange  voice,  vainly  sup- 

Vol.  II.  No.  IX. 


plicating  admission  from  his  valet, 
reached  his  ear  from  the  anticham- 
ber.  In  its  cracked  and  feeble  tones, 
he  recognised  those  of  the  old  beg- 
gar-woman, and  his  good  heart,  even 
in  this  moment  of  extreme  distress, 
felt  a  wish  to  thank  one  who  would 
have  preserved  him  from  ruin  if  she 
could. 

"  You  are  come  in  time,  my  good 
mother,"  cried  he,  opening  the  door 
of  his  apartment,  "  to  receive  a  last 
testimony  of  my  gratitude." — "  A  last 
testimony,  what  do  you  mean?" — "  I 
am  going  to  quit  Paris  for  ever." — 
"  Not  you  indeed." — "  I  am  serious: 
circumstances  oblige  me."--"  No,  they 
don't." — "  Woman,"  cried  the  comte 
impetuously,  "  this  is  no  time  to  sport 
with  my  feelings :  I  tell  you  I  am  ruin- 
ed."— "  And  I  tell  you,"  replied  the 
old  woman  very  coolly,  "  you  are  not. 
In  less  than  one  hour  you  will  re- 
ceive again  the  money  you  have  lost, 
with  a  formal  acquittance  of  your 
supposed  debt." — "  Impossible!" — 
"  You  will  find,  however,  it  is  true. 
Have  you  forgotten  my  last  predic- 
tion?" 

The  confidence  of  her  tone  star- 
tled De  Rosny.  "  Do  not  deceive 
me,  I  beseech  you,"  cried  he. — "  I 
swear  to  you,"  answered  she  so- 
lemnly, "  that  I  tell  you  the  truth." 
The  comte  could  no  longer  doubt  her 
word.  "  My  preserver,"  cried  he, 
attempting  to  catch  her  in  his  arms. 
She  evaded  his  embrace  with  more 
nimbleness  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected, and  standing  aloof  with  all 
the  coyness  of  a  youthful  beauty, 
"  Compose  yourself,  comte,'"'  cried 
she,  "  and  listen  to  me.  I  expect  a 
stronger  proof  of  your  gratitude  than 
a  little  money  or  an  embrace."--"  Ask 
what  you  please,  I  promise  to  grant 
Y 


158 


TUB    BKOGAU-WOMAN    OF    THE    CHAUSSER    D  ANTIX. 


it." — "  Well,  then,  I  take  you  at 
your  word.  Swear  to  me,  that  from 
this  moment  you  renounce  gaming 
for  ever."  De  Rosny  gave  her  his 
promise  without  hesitation,  and  with 
a  fixed  determination  to  keep  it. — 
"  And  now,  mother,"  cried  he,  "  you 
must  leave  off  your  trade,  and  sit 
down  to  enjoy  yourself  in  peace  and 
comfort  for  the  rest  of  your  days. 
I  will  immediately  secure  to  you  a 
decent  maintenance,  and  you  may  ei- 
ther reside  at  one  of  my  country-seats, 
or  have  a  lodging  of  your  own  in  Pa- 
ris, as  you  please."  — "  My  dear 
comte,  I  thank  you  for  a  proposal 
which  is  like  yourself:  believe  me  I 
shall  be  always  grateful  for  it,  though 
I  cannot  accept  it." — "  And  why?" — 
"  I  have  a  fondness  for  my  present 
way  of  life :  it  has  its  inconveniencies 
to  be  sure,  but  then  it  has  its  plea- 
sures too." — "  Pleasures!" — "  Yes: 
in  the  first  place,  I  am  not  dependent 
on  any  one." — "  O  my  good  mother, 
could  you  consider  yourself  depend- 
ent on  him  who  would  be  indebted 
to  you  for  every  thing?" 

These  words,  and  the  tone  in  which 
they  were  uttered,  affected  the  old 
woman,  but  they  did  not  alter  her 
resolution.  De  Rosny  and  she  were 
still  debating  the  point,  when  a  pack- 
et was  delivered  to  him,  containing 
his  money  and  an  acquittance  of  his 
debt.  He  implored  the  mendicant 
to  tell  him  how  she  had  extricated 
him ;  but  on  this  point  she  would  give 
him  no  satisfaction, neither  would  she 
accept  of  a  large  sum  which  he  would 
have  forced  upon  her;  but  taking 
only  a  few  francs,  she  quitted  him, 
with  a  promise  of  seeing  him  again 
in  a  few  days  ;  and  the  comte  took 
care  to  desire  his  servants  to  admit 
her  whenever  she  should  call. 

Three  days  only  had  elapsed  be-. 


fore  old  Manon  presented  herself  at 
the  Hotel  de  Rosny.  "  Ah !  comte" 
cried  she,  as  she  entered,  "  I  am  now 
the  harbinger  of  bad  news.  Your 
life  is  threatened — threatened  did  I 
say? — it  is  in  the  most  imminent  dan- 
ger. A  villain,  who  has  been  pre- 
vented from  plundering  you,  has 
sworn  your  death.  You  must  leave 
Paris  if  you  would  save  yourself  from 
the  dagger  of  an  assassin." — "  Ex- 
plain yourself,  my  good  Manon." — « 
"  The  Italian,  with  whom  you  first 
played,  was  in  league  with  the  Rus- 
sian, who  has  been  forced  to  return 
your  money:  half  that  sum  was  des- 
tined for  the  Italian,  and  frantic  at 
losing  it,  he  has  vowed  that  you  shall 
pay  his  disappointment  with  your 
life." — "  Don't  fear  for  me,  my  kind 
Manon,  I  shall  always  go  armed." — • 
"  But  what  will  arms  avail  against  an 
enemy  like  this  ?  O  comte,  I  beseech 
you,  leave  Paris!"—"  Impossible!  I 
should  despise  myself  were  I  to  act 
so  pusillanimously."  In  vain  Manon 
urged  and  prayed,  De  Rosny  was 
inflexible ;  all  she  could  obtain  was 
a  promise  that  he  would  have  arms 
about  his  person,  and  that  he  would 
not  be  out  alone  at  a  late  hour. 

A  month  passed,  and  De  Rosny, 
though  he  still  continued  to  observe 
these  precautions,  began  to  think 
they  were  superfluous.  He  had  an 
engagement  one  evening  very  near 
his  own  house,  and  as  the  day  had 
but  just  closed  in,  and  the  evening 
was  fine,  he  neither  took  his  carriage 
nor  attendants:  he  was  just  turning 
the  corner  of  the  street  in  which  his 
friend  lived,  when  he  thought  he 
heard  a  stealthy  step  behind  him, 
and  at  that  moment  a  man  aimed  a 
blow  at  him  with  a  stiletto  ;  but  the 
arm  of  the  villain  was  suddenly  ar- 
rested by  Manon,  who,  unperceived, 


THE    BEGGAR-WOMAN    Of    THE    CHAUSSEK    D  ANTIN. 


159 


was  alone  behind  him.  Disengaging 
himself  with  the  quickness  of  light- 
ning, the  miscreant  buried  the  sti- 
letto in  the  poor  mendicant's  side. 
He  shifted  the  stiletto  to  his  left 
hand  with  the  quickness  of  light- 
ning, and  again  aimed  at  the  comte, 
who  rushed  upon  him,  but  missed 
his  blow,  and  buried  his  weapon  in 
the  bosom  of  the  mendicant.  She 
fell  covered  with  blood  into  the  arms 
of  the  horror-struck  comte:  the  as- 
sassin would  have  escaped,  but  the 
shriek  of  Manon  as  she  fell  brought 
assistance,  and  the  ruffian  was  se- 
cured. Do  Rosny  bore  her  into  the 
nearest  house,  and  sent  for  medical 
aid  :  as  he  placed  her  upon  a  couch 
her  senses  returned,  and  in  a  faint 
voice  she  desired  to  be  left  alone 
with  him  for  a  moment. 

De  Rosny,  spite  of  his  agitation, 
was  struck  with  astonishment  at  the 
sweet  and  youthful  accent  in  which 
these  words  were  uttered.  "  It  is  only 
at  a  moment  like  this,"  said  she,  as 
soon  as  they  were  alone,  "  that  I 
may  be  permitted  to  tell  you  that  you 
see  in  me  the  daughter  of  the  Mar- 
quis d' Alvarez,  whose  life  you  once 
saved :  young  as  I  then  was,  the  gra- 
titude I  felt  for  my  father's  preserver 
soon  ripened  into  a  passion,  which 
your  refusal  of  my  hand  could  not 
extinguish.  Heaven  has  permitted 
me  to  prove  to  you  the  sincerity  of 
that  affection,  which  nothing  but  the 
approach  of  death  could  ever  have 
induced  me  to  reveal."  As  she  ut- 
tered these  words,  she  again  fainted, 
and  it  was  so  long  before  she  reco- 
vered her  senses,  that  the  distracted 
De  Rosny  thought  they  were  fled 
for  ever. 

But  heaven  spared  him  the  pang 
of  having  caused  her  death:  the 
wound,  though  exceedingly  danger- 


ous, was  not  mortal,  and  the  lovely 
Spaniard,  after  many  weeks  of  dan- 
ger and  suffering,  recovered  to  see 
herself  the  sovereign  mistress  of  that 
heart  which  she  had  purchased  at 
nearly  the  expense  of  her  life.  It 
was,  however,  long  before  she  could 
be  persuaded  that  it  was  really  love 
which  brought  the  comte  to  her  feet; 
she  feared  that  it  was  gratitude  ra- 
ther than  passion  which  urged  him 
to  seek  her  hand :  but  this  fear  was 
at  length  dispelled  by  the  tender  and 
passionate  attentions  of  De  Rosny, 
who  could  not  reflect  without  asto- 
nishment on  his  having  ever  refused 
the  hand  of  a  creature  so  lovely  and 
so  highly  gifted.  He  forgot  that  at 
the  time  her  father  offered  her  to 
him  her  loveliness  was  that  of  a  child, 
for  she  was  scarcely  fourteen.  It 
was  five  years  before  the  period  of 
which  we  are  writing,  that  the  comte 
paid  a  visit  to  Madrid,  where  he  be- 
came acquainted  with  the  Marquis 
d' Alvarez,  who,  naturally  hospitable, 
was  particularly  pleased  with  the 
young  and  amiable  Frenchman :  not 
contented  with  inviting  him  frequent- 
ly to  his  house,  he  often  made  par- 
ties for  his  amusement.  It  chanced 
that  in  an  aquatic  expedition,  which 
was  undertaken  on  De  Rosny's  ac- 
count, the  marquis  was  seized  with 
a  giddiness  in  his  head  and  fell  over- 
board :  he  must  have  been  lost  had 
not  the  comte,  at  the  imminent  risk 
of  his  own  life,  plunged  in  and  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  him  above  water 
till  they  were  both  taken  up.  This 
action  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
the  heart  of  Donna  Teresa,  who 
passionately  loved  her  father.  Her 
fading  cheek  and  unusual  gravity 
soon  caught  the  attention  of  her  fond 
and  anxious  mother,  who  no  sooner 
discovered  the  state  of  her  affection:;, 
Y  2 


160 


GOOD    BEHAVIOUR. 


than  she  revealed  it  to  the  marquis, 
and  he  frankly  offered  the  hand  of 
his  lovely  heiress  to  the  comte.  But 
the  volatile  Frenchman's  time  was 
not  come;  he  declined  the  honour 
with  all  due  acknowledgments,  and 
quitting  Madrid  shortly  after,  had 
thought  no  more  of  the  fair  Spaniard. 
The  case  was  very  different  with  her; 
lie  still  lived  in  her  heart,  and  when 
the  death  of  her  parents  left  her  at 
her  own  disposal,  she  hastened  to 
Paris,  where,  shutting  herself  up  in 
a  magnificent  solitude,  she  employed 
a  trusty  emissary  to  watch  the  motions 
of  the  comte.  She  soon  learned  his 
attachment  to  gaming,  and  she  con- 
trived, by  the  means  of  her  faithful 
spy,  to  learn  also  the  plots  laid 
against  him.  This  man  had  formerly 
been  an  acquaintance  of  the  Italian, 
and  some  words  that  he  dropped  led 
him  to  discover  that  the  Russian  was 
in  reality  a  spy :  this  intelligence  Don- 
na Teresa  luckily  received  in  time  to 
prevent  the  ruin  of  De  Rosny,  for 
the  Russian  gladly  compounded  to 
return  the  money,  and  leave  France 
quietly,  rather  than  be  denounced  to 
the  police.  The  vindictive  Italian,  en- 


raged at  seeing  his  prey  thus  snatch- 
ed from  his  grasp,  inadvertently  ut- 
tered some  threats,  which  filled  the 
fair  Spaniard  with  terror,  and  finding 
it  impossible  to  prevail  on  De  Rosny 
to  retire  from  the  danger  which 
threatened  him,  she  availed  herself 
of  the  romantic  disguise  in  which  she 
had  drawn  him  from  the  dangers  of 
the  gaming-table,  to  watch  over  hie 
destiny;  nor  did  she  lose  sight  of 
him  from  the  moment  in  which  she 
informed  him  of  the  Italian's  trea- 
cherous designs  till  she  prevented 
their  accomplishment. 

In  a  few  months  the  fair  Teresa 
yielded  to  the  importunities  of  her 
lover,  and  they  were  united.  It  is 
said  that  De  Rosny  made  such  an 
excellent  husband,  that,  during  the 
whole  course  of  their  long  and  happy 
union,  his  fair  consort  never  had  the 
slightest  reason  to  suspect  his  fide- 
lity. I  know  not  what  credit  the  ge- 
nerality of  my  lovely  married  readers 
may  be  inclined  to  give  to  this  part 
of  my  story,  but  at  least  I  am  sure 
they  will  agree  with  me,  that  if  it 
was  true  of  a  French  husband,  it 
could  be  little  less  than  a  miracle. 


GOOD  BEHAVIOUR. 

-nor  aught 


So  much  delights  me,  as  those  graceful  acts, 
Those  thousand  decencies,  that  daily  flow 
From  all  her  words  and  actions. 

Milton. 


Having  my  doubts  whether  a  per- 
son is  entitled  to  find  fault  with  any 
thing,  without  shewing  that  he  under- 
stands so  much  about  it  as  will  en- 
able him  to  say  how  it  ought  to  be, 
if  the  faults  were  removed ;  and  hav- 
ing last  month  taken  the  liberty  to 
animadvert  rather  freely  upon  two 
or  three  kinds  of  behaviour,  it  seems 
Incumbent  upon  me  in  this  paper  to 


offer  a  few  observations  upon  good 
behaviour. 

It  will  be  recollected — but  if  it  be 
recollected,  why  repeat  it?  or  if  for- 
gotten, why  recall  what  is  deemed 
unworthy  of  remembrance  ? — To  pro- 
ceed then.  Equally  distant  from  the 
pseudo-handsome,  the  strange,  the 
shabby,  and  the  pretty,  stands  good 
behaviour;  a  thing  much  talked  of 


GOOD    I3EIIAVIOUK. 


161 


and  universally  admired,  though  it 
is  not  easily  reduced  to  general  terms ; 
nor  shall  I  attempt  to  reduce  it,  while 
my  friend  Urbanus  presents  so  happy 
a  personification  of  its  chief  excel- 
lencies. Urbanus  is  a  man  of  re- 
spectable origin;  being  the  youngest 
of  a  large  family,  the  navy  became, 
as  it  were  by  prescription,  his  pro- 
fession. By  improving  the  advan- 
tages which  this  erratic  life  affords 
for  seeing  a  variety  of  countries,  he 
acquired  a  great  ease  of  manners 
and  a  fund  of  entertaining  conver- 
sation. His  brilliant  exploits  re- 
peatedly introduced  him  to  the  most 
eminent  officers,  and  his  behaviour 
invariably  confirmed  the  preposses- 
sion which  his  merit  had  inspired. 
His  agreeableness  was  not  assumed 
for  the  sake  merely  of  his  own  ad- 
vancement, or  employed  to  ingra- 
tiate himself  only  where  he  stood  a 
chance  to  profit  by  it.  Not  a  man 
in  his  ship  but  was  his  friend;  and 
though  Urbanus  is  a  strict  discipli- 
narian, you  might  have  seen,  when 
she  was  paid  off,  the  remnant  of  that 
hardy  crew,  which  he  had  so  often 
commanded  in  the  most  arduous  en- 
gagements, wiping  away,  as  they  took 
leave  of  him,  the  tear  of  regret, 
which  they  seemed  half  ashamed  to 
shew.  The  reputation  he  enjoyed 
among  the  worthies  of  his  profes- 
sion recommended  him  to  the  no- 
tice of  several  of  the  nobility,  with 
whom,  though  his  own  rank  is,  I 
regret  to  say,  inconsiderable,  he  lives 
on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy.  One 
noble  personage,  to  whom,  in  the  ha- 
bitual exercise  of  his  good  offices, 
Urbanus  was  able  to  render  an  es- 
sential service,  has  for  years  been 
his  approved  friend.  And  yet  there 
is  not  the  slightest  particle  of  obse- 
quiousness in  the  character  of  Ur- 


banus ;  he  can  think  for  himself,  and 
he  has  the  candour  to  express  what 
he  thinks,  if  not  with  all  the  blunt-" 
ness  which  is  allowable  in  a  sailor, 
yet  with  a  modest  firmness — the  evi- 
dent result  of  conviction,  which  is 
the  most  effectual  of  all  persuasives. 
It  is  as  well  known  that  Urbanus 
has  a  natural  turn  for  wit  as  that  he 
has  a  sword,  yet  his  use  of  it  is  so 
sparing  and  so  discriminate,  that  his 
associates  would  as  soon  expect  to  be 
run  through  by  the  one  as  to  be  lash- 
ed by  the  other :  both  are  kept  out 
of  sight  till  the  proper  moment  for 
using  them.  He  neither  talks,  nor 
dances,  nor  plays  solely  to  please 
himself,  or  to  shew  off*  any  fancied 
cleverness  of  his  own,  but  for  the 
gratification  and  amusement  of  his 
company.  Nothing  can  be  more 
amiable  than  his  conciliating  manner 
to  the  bashful,  and  his  endeavours  to 
bring  forward  retiring  merit.  Of 
course,  one  cannot  expect  that  with 
so  little  leisure,  and  so  few  facilities 
for  study,  Urbanus  should  be  a  pro- 
found scholar  or  a  philosopher ;  but 
he,  notwithstanding,  possesses  a  smat- 
tering of  book-learning,  and  a  very 
passable  knowledge  of  the  sciences, 
both  of  which  he  has  gained  by 
throwing  out  such  hints,  and  giving 
such  opportunities  to  the  learned, 
with  whom,  in  the  course  of  his  life, 
he  has  associated,  as  have  led  them 
to  discourse  on  the  subjects  which 
they  best  understood.  It  may  there- 
fore be  conceived,  that  Urbanus  al- 
ways appears  easy  and  collected,  al- 
ways ready  to  give  a  clear  answer, 
to  join  or  take  the  lead  in  conversa- 
tion ;  but  it  is  all  done  without  effort, 
unless  I  should  call  by  that  name  the 
means  he  uses  to  make  others  equally 
at  ease.  The  caresses  of  the  great 
have  not  rendered  him  insensible  to 


162 


GOOD    UEIIAYIOUR. 


the  claims  of  his  meaner  acquaint- 
ances, for  he  values  whatever  inter- 
est he  may  have — over  and  above 
what  is  needful  for  himself — only  so 
far  as  it  may  be  serviceable  to  de- 
serving people  who  may  stand  in 
need  of  his  assistance.  He  omits  no 
attention  that  can  be  grateful  to  their 
feelings,  and  would  rather  absent 
himself  from  a  fete,  than  break  an 
appointment  with  any  one  in  adver- 
sity, or  fail  to  enliven  by  his  pre- 
sence the  couch  of  an  invalid  friend. 
Hence  it  appears,  that  personal  me- 
rit, talents,  and  philanthropy  enter 
into  the  composition  of  the  well-be- 
haved; or  in  other  words,  that  good 
behaviour  is  nothing  else  than  the 
embodying  or  outward  form  of  good- 
ness itself.  Far,  therefore,  from  be- 
ing that  trivial  thing  which  many  re- 
present it  to  be,  it  is  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  be  cultivated  with  the 
greatest  assiduity.  They  asperse  vir- 
tue most  unparcionably,  who,  by  their 
misbehaviour,  give  out,  that  she  is  a 
petulant,  morose,  gloomy,  ill-bred, 
slovenly  creature.  And  really,  though 
it  ill  becomes  me  to  say  any  thing  il- 
liberal, one  cannot  help  suspecting 
that  they  have  never  once  approach- 
ed the  being  whose  favours  they  pre- 
tend to  engross.  For  "  the  two  great 
ornaments  of  virtue,"  says  Mr.  Ad- 
dison, who  knew  her  intimately, 
"which  shew  her  in  the  most  advanta- 
geous views,  and  make  her  altogether 
lovely,  are  cheerfulness  and  good-na- 
ture. These  generally  go  together, 
as  a  man  cannot  be  agreeable  to 
others  who  is  not  easy  within  him- 
self. They  are  both  very  requisite 
in  a  virtuous  mind,  to  keep  out  me- 
lancholy from  the  many  serious 
thoughts  it  is  engaged  in,  and  to  hin- 
der its  natural  hatred  of  vice  from 
souring  into  severity  and  censorious- 


ness."  It  certainly  is  the  duty  of  ail 
who  would  promote  the  cause  of  vir- 
tue, to  shew,  in  the  pleasantness  of 
their  manners,  and  the  suavity  of 
their  temper,  as  well  as  by  the  cor- 
rectness of  their  morals,  that  all  the 
agreeables  are  not  on  the  side  of  vice ; 
but  that  virtue  has  her  beauties,  her 
joys  and  fascinations,  which,  when 
fairly  displayed,  will  be  seen  infinite- 
ly to  surpass  the  unruly  transports 
and  the  empty  fleeting  seductions  of 
profligacy.  But  for  this  end  some 
little  exertion  and  a  great  deal  of 
self-denial  are  requisite.  We  must 
not  yield  to  that  unfeeling  listlessness 
which  induces  such  ill  behaviour  as 
yawning  and  composing  ourselves  at 
private  concerts,  or  select  selections, 
be  they  ever  so  fiat  and  somniferous. 
Indeed  we  cannot  in  reason  expect 
to  be  well  received  any  where,  with- 
out contributing  our  due  share  of 
entertainment:  by  which  I  do  not 
mean  that  every  visitor  should  fur- 
nish a  given  quantity  of  talk,  for  a 
judicious  silence  is  often  a  more  use- 
ful commodity,  and  to  regulate  it 
gives  great  occasion  for  the  interfer- 
ence of  self-denial.  We  must  check 
the  fiery  impatience  to  attract  atten- 
tion, and  the  inordinate  love  of  mo- 
nopolizing it,  and  the  dishonest  pro- 
pensity of  seizing  a  bright  thought 
while  it  is  yet  in  embryo,  and  saying 
it  under  favour  of  our  own  rapid  ut- 
terance, before  its  hesitating  parent 
has  time  to  get  through  the  parturi- 
tion. Above  all,  if  we  would  live  in 
peace,  we  must  repress  a  sour  and 
captious  disposition,  which,  while  it 
lasts,  possesses  the  best  of  men  to 
such  a  degree,  that  it  would  seem 
easier  to  perform  a  great  action  than 
to  preserve  an  even  temper.  A  man 
whose  refined  humanity  extends  to 
the  preservation  of  a  drowning  fly, 


GOOD    BEHAVIOUR. 


1r- .-. 


may,  with  a  single  peevish  expres- 
sion, or  the  chilling  glance  of  indif- 
ference, give  rise  to  the  deepest  an- 
guish in  the  most  ingenuous  bosoms. 

Be  it  remembered  that  true  good- 
ness of  behaviour  is  not  confined  to 
any  privileged  rank;  it  renders  to  all 
their  due — deference  to  superiors,  af- 
fability to  equals,  kindness  and  con- 
solation to  inferiors.  It  is  true,  the 
same  mode  of  shewing  it  is  not  cus- 
tomary; that  would  produce  confu- 
sion, besides  being  infinitely  ridicu- 
lous and  unavailing:  but  because  a 
lackey  has  no  title,  has  he  there- 
fore no  name  ?  because  he  is  desti- 
tute of  pomp  and  circumstance,  is 
he  therefore  without  the  spirit  of  a 
man  ?  Persons  who  have  lived  long 
enough  to  watch  "  the  various  turns 
of  fate  below"  can  tell  us,  that  of 
those  who  now  appear  in  mean  situ- 
ations, many  are  descended  of  good 
families,  and  have  been  educated  for 
very  different  purposes  than  to  be 
domineered  over.  In  an  especial 
manner  is  the  very  best  behaviour 
called  forth  towards  females.  In 
whatever  honest  capacity  the  sex  mi- 
nister to  man,  an  honour  is  conferred 
upon  him;  and  if  Fortune,  blind  to 
their  charms,  which  she  certainly 
might  envy  were  her  sight  restored, 
has  placed  them  beneath  us,  their 
very  situation  confers  a  gracefulness 
upon  our  good  behaviour  towards 
them,  and  affords  a  wider  range  to 
all  our  purest  emotions. 

The  perfection  of  good  behaviour 
to  females  thus  unprotected  and  in 
our  power  is  so  admirably  pourtray- 
ed  in  the  conduct  of  one  of  the  po- 
litest, as  well  as  bravest,  men  that 
ever  lived,  that  I  cannot  refrain  from 
quoting  the  passage*. — Scipio  the 
younger,  when  only  twenty-four  years 
*  Liv.  lib.  xxvi.  c.  49. 


old,  was  intrusted  by  the  Roman  re- 
public with  the  command  of  the  army 
against  the  Spaniards.  By  his  ex- 
traordinary skill  and  intrepidity  he 
took  by  storm  the  capital  of  the 
Carthaginian  empire  in  Spain.  The 
plunder  was  immense ;  some  thou- 
sands of  freemen  were  made  prison- 
ers, and  above  three  hundred  dis- 
tinguished persons  of  both  sexes 
were  received  as  hostages.  Among 
the  latter  an  ancient  lady,  the  sister- 
in-law  of  Indibilis,  king  of  the  Iler- 
getes,  appeared  before  him,  sur- 
rounded with  the  daughters  Of  In- 
dibilis and  several  other  ladies  of 
rank,  all  in  the  flower  of  youth  and 
beauty.  The  matron  advanced  a 
little  before  the  melancholy  group, 
and  throwing  herself  at  the  feet  of 
the  conqueror,  implored  him  to  di- 
rect those  who  were  to  have  the  cus- 
tody of  the  ladies,  to  treat  them  with 
the  respect  due  to  their  sex  and  con- 
dition. Scipio,  not  fully  understand- 
ing her,  assured  her  that  they  should 
want  for  nothing.  "  But,"  she  re- 
sumed, "  we  care  not  for  those  con- 
veniences :  in  our  state  of  misfortune 
what  will  not  suffice  for  us  ?  When 
I  behold  the  loveliness  of  these  prin- 
cesses, and  think  of  the  licentious- 
ness to  which  they  may  now  be  ex- 
posed, I  am  filled  with  very  different 
apprehensions.  For  myself  I  have 
nothing  to  fear,  old  age  being  my 
protection."  When  Scipio  perceived 
the  object  of  her  prayer,  he  answer- 
ed, "  My  own  glory  and  that  of  the 
Roman  people  forbid  that  virtue, 
which  ought  every  where  to  be  held 
sacred,  should  in  my  camp  be  ex- 
posed to  indignity,  particularly  since 
you,  with  so  many  causes  of  alarm, 
have  made  the  preservation  of  your 
honour  the  first  object  of  your  so- 
licitude."    He  then  committed  the 


104 


THF,    WIFE    OF    A    GENIUS. 


care  of  the  ladies  to  officers  of  known 
prudence,  strictly  enjoining  that  they 
should  he  treated  with  all  the  respect 
and  fidelity  that  would  have   been 


shewn  to  the  mothers,  wives,  and 
daughters  of  their  nearest  friends 
and  allies. 

0*. 


THE  WIFE  OF  A  GENIUS. 


(Continued 

Among  the  many  idlers  who  were 
attracted  by  the  good  cheer  at  our 
house,  was  one  whom  I  wished  to 
make  my  own  peculiar  property,  one 
who  seemed  to  be  as  superior  to  his 
companions  as  does  always  the  beau 
idtal  of  a  simple  girl.  He  was  not 
long  in  finding  out,  notwithstanding 
all  my  coquettish  airs,  the  preference 
which  my  heart  owned  for  him,  and 
he  immediately  proceeded  to  profit 
by  this  knowledge,  and  to  pay  me 
the  most  constant  attention.  Ex- 
cepting the  sly  insinuations  of  an  old 
violoncello  -  player,  who  swore  we 
must  come  together  because  we  wrere 
always  quarreling,  I  believe  no  one 
else  ever  imagined  that  the  smallest 
love  lay  between  us.  Before  com- 
pany did  he  advance  any  opinion,  I 
was  the  first  to  oppose  it.  He  always 
ridiculed  what  I  admired;  of  course, 
I  ever  admired  what  he  condemned : 
hut  love  will  out  as  well  as  murder; 
and  on  his  pretending  one  day  that 
he  had  purchased  a  commission,  and 
afterwards  declaring  he  was  about  to 
join  on  the  following  day,  I  suffered 
him  to  discover  me  in  tears ;  nay,  he 
even  drew  from  me  a  confession,  that 
I  preferred  him  to  every  man  I  had 
ever  been  acquainted  with ;  and  he 
achieved  all  this  without  even  be- 
traying a  similar  emotion.  Too  late 
I  reflected  on  my  conduct,  that  I, 
who  had  prided  myself  so  much  on 
my  high  spirit,  had  been  drawn  into 
an  acknowledgment  unauthorized  by 
any  demonstration  of  similar  feelings  I 


from   p.  G9. ) 

on  his  part,  except  indeed  those  at- 
tentions which  every  man  lavishes  on 
a  pretty  woman.  Judge  then  my 
rage  when  he  informed  me,  that  his 
story  of  entering  the  army  was  a  ma- 
noeuvre to  lure  this  confession  from 
me!  He  perceived  from  the  agony 
expressed  in  my  countenance  that  a 
coming  storm  was  approaching,  when 
seizing  my  hand  in  a  fit  of  real  or 
feigned  passion,  he  confessed  what 
ought  first  to  have  proceeded  from 
his  lips — that  he  had  long  adored  me. 
Beaumont  was  allowed  by  every  bo- 
dy to  be  a  gentleman  every  inch  of 
him :  he  was  tall  and  most  interesting- 
ly slender;  his  face  was  delightfully 
pallid.  Nature  had  not  bestowed  on 
him  any  vulgar  organs  of  sight;  he 
was  always  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  a  quizzing-glass  for  effective  vision. 
His  teeth  were  white  as  ivory,  his 
fingers  long  and  taper,  and  his  nails 
the  most  beautiful  I  ever  beheld.  He 
waltzed,  he  drew,  he  played  on  the 
clarionet  and  piano ;  he  recited  equal 
to  Kemble,  and  could  bring  home  by 
ear  every  tune  in  the  last  new  opera. 
Besides  this,  he  wrote  sonnets  for 
"  The  World"  and  other  papers,  was 
the  author  of  a  romance,  and  knew 
every  fashion  before  it  was  let  loose 
in  Bond-street.  He  could  explain 
the  armorial  bearing  on  every  car- 
riage; and  could  tell  why  Lord  A. 
was  parted  from  Lady  B.  almost  as 
soon  as  the  affair  commenced:  in 
short,  his  knowledge  was  as  multifa- 
rious as  curious.     It  was  in  vain,  af- 


THE    WIFE    OF    A    GENIUS. 


10.r 


ter  the  explanation  he  had  drawn 
from  me,  to  dissemble;  and  at  length 
we  were  married. 

To  many  parents  the  loss  of  a  child, 
from  whose  service  they  derived  their 
only  support,  would  have  caused  de- 
spair: not  so  mine.  Beaumont  had 
told  my  father  that  he  possessed  an 
annuity  of  100/.  per  annum,  allowed 
him  by  a  certain  nobleman,  the  friend 
of  his  late  mother,  and  that  he  was 
intended  for  a  barrister,  and  little 
doubted  of  being  lord  chancellor  be- 
fore he  died.  This  climax  satisfied 
my  parents,  as  they  had  no  other 
idea  than  that  of  transferring  the  as- 
sistance which  they  wanted  from  me 
to  him,  who  was  taking  from  them 
their  only  chance  of  living.  For  some 
time  he  allowed  this  claim,  but  he 
soon  cast  them  off,  when  they,  tiring 
alternately  the  whole  circle  of  their 
acquaintance,  at  length  gave  up  their 
lives  in  obscurity,  far,  far  from  that 
child  who,  had  they  educated  her 
properly,  would  never  have  withheld 
her  assistance,  nor  perhaps  have  unit- 
ed herself  with  one  destined  to  the 
bar.  Oh!  this  bringing  up  to  the 
bai*,  this  eternal  silencer  of  import- 
ant questions,  this  excuse  for  folly, 
idleness,  and  extravagance ,  what  do 
we  not  owe  to  it?  All  the  genius  of 
a  Fielding  or  a  Colman ;  but  the 
possessor  of  which,  alas !  only  sufficed 
to  point  a  moral  and  adorn  a  tale. 
All  the  ribaldry  of  the  loosest  letter- 
ed genius  do  we  owe  to  this  life  of 
learned  or  iniquitous  leisure,  and 
which  has  perforce  brought  many  a 
one  to  that  bar,  not  as  the  pleader, 
but  as  the  impeached.  Every  body 
said  that  Beaumont  would  be  the  ter- 
ror of  the  circuit,  but  every  body  is 
sometimes  mistaken.  While  beheld 
forth  on  every  popular  subject  to 
Vol.  II,  No.  IX. 


those  who  were  incapable  of  rightly 
judging,  all  applauded.  Alas!  he 
had  a  higher  ordeal  to  go  through, 
but  he  stopped  on  the  threshold. 

However,  we  were  married ;  a 
bouse  was  taken  and  elegantly  fur- 
nished, and  the  money  was  to  be 
forthcoming  in  a  twelvemonth.  Beau- 
mont had  an  imposing  air,  with  some- 
what of  a  bullying  manner,  which 
by  many  was  taken  for  consequence, 
and  every  body  seemed  glad  to  give 
him  credit.  Wines,  liquors,  and 
splendid  mi-necessavics  tumbled  in, 
as  if  tradesmen  had  nothing  else  to 
do  than  confer  their  goods  gratis. 
We  gave  dinner-parties  of  the  most 
splendid  kind :  but  I  might  have  men- 
tioned, that  we  quarreled  on  our 
wedding-day,  and  never  passed  any 
other  day  without  some  trifling  ex- 
postulation. Expostulations,  how- 
ever, became  more  and  more  feeble 
on  my  part;  for  Beaumont,  by  his 
very  violent  behaviour  soon  after  our 
nuptials,  frightened  me  into  compli- 
ance with  every  imprudence.  In  dis- 
puting with  his  own  sex,  he  was  al- 
ways overbearing;  if  words  convinc- 
ed not,  blows  were  tried.  On  the 
day  of  our  marriage,  I  remembered 
his  felling  an  unfortunate  postillion 
to  the  earth  for  a  slight  contradiction ; 
and  I  feared  that  one  time  or  other, 
for  lack  of  pugilistic  practice,  he 
might,  to  keep  his  hand  in,  try  a  hit 
with  me.  Proud,  dictatorial,  and  pa- 
radoxical, in  his  own  family  he  ty- 
rannized ;  but  the  elegant  compliment, 
the  fascinating  smile,  and  the  easy 
acquiescence,  were  still  left  for  a  new 
acquaintance ;  and  I  have  often  long- 
ed to  throw  my  arms  about  his  neck 
before  a  large  party  which  he  was 
entertaining  with  all  his  fascinating 
powers,  but  on  the  departure  of  which 
Z 


166 


THIC    WIFE    OF    A    GENIUS. 


he  would  call  in  the  demon  of  dis- 
content and  be  himself  again.  These 
gleams  of  sunshine,  however,  lasted 
not  long,  for  my  husband  was  so  ex- 
ceedingly clever,  that  he  imagined 
few  worthy  to  talk  to  him  without 
contradiction  ;  and  having  a  picture 
of  his  own  painting  refused  by  the 
committee  of  Somerset-House,  and 
a  volume  of  poems  running  the  whole 
round  of  booksellers  to  no  purpose, 
he  deemed  himself  competent  to  dis- 
cuss the  whole  circle  of  arts  and  sci- 
ences. But  to  more  serious  matters. 
Hitherto  we  had  proceeded  tole- 
rably well:  we  had  not  yet  to  fear  at 
every  knock  at  the  door  that  some 
unwelcome  dun  might  make  his  ap- 
pearance ;  for  we  had  not  been  mar- 
ried a  year,  when  one  day  my  hus- 
band, being  in  one  of  his  kindest  fits, 
after  declaring  that  he  believed  his 
French  wines  were  the  best  in  the 
world,  invited  me  to  go  with  him  to 
a  public  masquerade.  I,  who  was 
never  behind  in  any  scheme  of  folly, 
readily  consented.  I  did  indeed  at- 
tempt somefeeblc  remonstrance  about 
propriety  and  decorum ;  but  as  I  knew 
that  when  he  once  gave  his  mind  to 
any  thing  he  was  not  to  be  disap- 
pointed, my  scruples  were  easily 
overruled.  At  twelve  o'clock  then 
we  set  off  for  the  Opera-House  as 
Apollo  and  Daphne.  I  don't  know 
why,  unless  it  was  because  I  was 
about  to  behold  what  I  had  never 
seen  before,  but  my  heart  beat  vio- 
lently, nor  did  my  spirits  rise,  as  was 
usual  with  them  when  about  to  visit 
scenes  of  merriment,  in  my  journey 
to  the  Haymarket.  They  were  not 
more  elevated  by  the  discordant  noi- 
ses made  by  the  mob,  who,  as  we 
left  our  coach,  bestowed  upon  us  the 
most  opprobrious  epithets,which  they 
continued  to  do  on  every  fresh  com- 


er. On  entering  the  house,  the  va- 
riegated lamps  were  but  just  lighted ; 
a  blue  vapour  filled  the  apartments, 
and  but  few  persons  had  arrived. 
Beaumont,  to  raise  my  spirits,  se- 
verely reproved  me  for  bringing  him 
thus  early — it  was  so  gauche,  so 
downright  bourgeoise — and  he  left 
the  sofa  on  which  we  were  sitting,  to 
gossip  with  a  Nabob,  whose  manners 
at  least  seemed  unnecessarily  of  a 
doubtful  character. 

I  felt  happier  when  he  returned  to 
me,  for  I  fancied  that  I  was  the  sub- 
ject of  their  conversation.  By  this 
time  many  masks  had  arrived.  Some 
clowns  and  pantaloons,  paid  possibly 
by  the  proprietors  to  make  them- 
selves agreeable,  endeavoured  to  ex- 
cite the  people  to  mirth,  which  they 
did  but  coldly,  recollecting  probably 
how  much  they  had  to  do  before  the 
night  would  be  over.  I  felt  now 
some  excitation  to  pleasure  from  the 
music  and  the  new  glare  of  light  with 
which  I  was  surrounded,  and  at 
length,  at  the  desire  of  Beaumont, 
joined  a  country-dance  with  some 
harlequins,  fair  Circassians,  two  Qua- 
kers, and  a  gouty  alderman.  We 
then  lounged  about  and  danced,  and 
lounged  and  danced  again;  and  I 
should,  I  dare  say,  have  soon  fallen 
in  with  the  magic  influence  of  the 
scene,  had  not  the  irascibility  of  my 
husband  kept  me  in  a  painful  reality 
of  feeling.  As  Apollo  he  frequently 
touched  his  lyre,  but  not  drawing 
forth  very  sweet  sounds,  several 
masques,  in  imitation  of  the  noises 
in  the  opera  of  Midas,  brayed  loudly : 
he  always  violently  resented  this,  and 
it  was  not  without  difficulty  that  I 
could  restrain  him  from  striking  his 
opponents.  The  last  time  he  endea- 
voured to  discourse  most  delicate 
music,  this  hubbub  was  greater  than 


THR    UNIVERSAL    PASSION. 


167 


ever;  he  became  indeed  exasperated 
beyond  bounds ;  he  threw  his  lyre  at 
the  head  of  a  blue  devil,  who  ran  off 
with  it,  and  while  Beaumont  was  pur- 
suing him,  he  received  a  violent  slap  | 
from  the  wand  of  a  harlequin  be- 
hind him,  who,  vaulting  over  his 
head,  kicked  off  the  laurel  crown 
from  the  brow  of  his  godship.  Re- 
linquishing his  former  game,  he  then 
gave  chase  to  the  unlucky  harlequin, 
leaving  me  not  a  pursued  but  a  pur- 
suing nymph.  Great  was  my  terror 
on  completely  losing  sight  of  the  great 
god  of  day,  for  I  seemed  in  my  turn 
fair  game  for  those  who  might  think 
hunting  me  more  entertaining  than 
following  my  husband.  At  length  I 
espied  my  Apollo,  for  luckily  he  was 
ti  e  only  one  that  evening  who  had 
assumed  so  high  a  character.  He 
was  excessively  flurried;  but  we 
danced  again,  and  again  I  recovered 
my  spirits.  In  due  time  the  supper- 
room  was  thrown  open.  What  a  scene 
of  confusion  now  took  place !  The 
rebuffs  Beaumont  had  met  with  I 
now  saw  had  spoiled  him  for  the 
night.  To  recover  himself  he  drank 
largely  of  wine,  and  insisted  on  my 
taking  some  also ;  and  at  length  he 
became  noisy.  A  shrimp  -  woman 
(or  man)  had  stuck  her  fork  into  some 
tongue  at  the  same  time  that  I  had: 
Beaumont  conceived  this  to  be  an 
insult.  The  lady  protested  she  would 
have  the  tongue.  My  husband  de- 
clared as  pertinaciously  that  he  or  she 


should  not,  till  at  length,  mutually  ir- 
ritated, in  spite  of  my  intercession, 
they  jumped  up  to  fight  it  out,  and 
upset  the  table  over  me.  I  fell,  co- 
vered with  ham,  pastry,  chickens,  &c. 
&c.  My  senses  forsook  me,  and  I 
knew  no  more,  until,  on  awaking  the 
following  morning  with  a  dreadful 
headache,  I  found  myself  in  a  strange 
apartment.  On  ringing  a  bell,  Beau- 
mont came  to  my  bedside  with  a  silk 
handkerchief  about  his  head :  one 
eye  was  much  cut  and  very  black, 
the  effect  of  his  rencontre  with  the 
shrimp-lady,  who  had  escaped  little 
better,  and  I  learned  that  the  busi- 
ness had  been  made  up  by  the  com- 
pany. He  had  owned  that  I  was 
his  wife,  and  they  had  carried  me 
insensible  to  the  nearest  hotel.  I 
endeavoured  to  read  him  a  lecture 
on  such  conduct,  but  he  soon  inform- 
ed me  by  his  manner,  that  this  was 
what  he  would  never  submit  to,  de- 
siring me  to  dress.  We  returned 
home,  where  I  had  abundant  leisure 
bitterly  to  regret  this  evening's  amuse- 
ment. 

This  adventure,  however,  tended 
to  repress  much  of  my  inconsiderate 
behaviour;  but  Beaumont  would 
never  rest  long  in  quietness.  A  round 
of  company  continued  to  frequent 
our  house ;  but  these  parties  were  in 
some  measure  arrested  by  another  of 
the  many  strange  events  in  which  I 
was  destined  to  be  involved. 
(To  be  continued.) 


THE  UNIVERSAL  PASSION. 


Philosophers  and  poets  have  de- 
scribed the  golden  age,  the  age  of 
silver,  and  the  age  of  iron.  Moderns 
have  supplanted  those  antiquated 
times  by  the  age  of  reason — satirists 
affirm  that  it  should  be  denominated 


the  age  of  brass;  but  another  term 
seems  more  appropriate — the  pedes- 
trian age.  We  have  not  only  walk- 
ing gentlemen  -  tourists,  but  ladies, 
with  a  little  leathern  case  of  necessa- 
ries strapped  to  their  shoulders,  make 
Z  2 


if>8 


Till:   UNIVERSAL   PASSION. 


peregrinations  of  no  small  extent. 
The  education  of  the  feet  often  su- 
persedes improvement  of  the  head. 
Dancing  is  the  universal  passion.  We 
allow  that,  if  not  carried  to  excess, 
the  salient  poetry  of  motion  is  a 
graceful  and  innocent  recreation:  the 
quadrille  exhibits  at  once  more  beau- 
tiful attitudes  than  the  minuet,  and 
elegant  animation  more  enchanting 
than  the  reel  or  country-dance:  be- 
cause, unless  the  movements  are 
needlessly  hurried,  they  will  not 
blowze  the  features  and  inflame  the 
complexion  like  the  rapid  curvets 
that  keep  time  to  our  sprightly  na- 
tional music. 

We  have  said  that  dancing  is  the 
universal  passion  of  refined  moderns. 
A  far  wider  range  may  be  included : 
for  all  nations,  civilized  or  savage, 
are  dancers.    Even  the  proud,  grave, 
indolent  Ottoman  foots  it  away  un- 
der the  inspiring  influence  of  his  se- 
cret vinous  beverage,  or  the  stimu- 
lus of  opium;  and  the  wild  sullen 
tribes  of  North  America  have  their 
war-dance.     In  the  early  ages  of  the 
world,  dancing  held  in  divine  worship 
a  place  not  inferior  to  poetry  and  mu- 
sic.    King  David  played  the  harp 
and  danced  in  pious  ecstasy  before 
the  ark  of  Jehovah.     The  most  po- 
lished and  intellectual  heathens  at 
Delos  considered  music  and  dancing 
as  essential  in  religious  ceremonies. 
Chorusses   of  boys  with   lutes  and 
flutes  performed  pedestrian  evolu- 
tions to  harmonious  sounds,  and  from 
these   accompaniments   some   songs 
were   called  hypochremata.     They 
were  divided  into  three  kinds:  the 
prosodion,  or  supplication,  when  the 
sacrifices  were  brought  forward  to 
the  altar;  the  hypochrema,  sung  in 
full  chorus,  the  performers  dancing 
5  around  the  altar  when  the  sacrifices 


were  put  to  the  fire ;  and  this  dance 
seems  to  have  been  common  to  men 
and  women.  The  song  which  suc- 
ceeded the  dance,  when  all  stood 
still,  was  called  stasimon.  When  the 
dancers  moved  in  front  of  the  altar, 
they  went  from  left  to  right,  in  imi- 
tation of  the  zodiac,  whose  motion 
in  the  heavens  appears  direct  from 
west  to  east;  and  following  the  ce- 
lestial course,  they  moved  back  from 
right  to  left. 

Dancing  has  had  eloquent  advo- 
cates among  the  sages  of  antiquity 
and  of  more  recent  days.  Plato  says, 
that  the  lower  animals  want  in  their 
motion  the  sense  of  order  and  dis- 
order, from  the  due  composition  and 
regulation  of  which  arise  numbers  • 
and  harmony :  but  man,  being  ad- 
mitted to  the  company  and  conversa- 
tion of  the  gods,  has  received  from 
them  a  sense  of  number,  of  harmony, 
of  sweetness  and  delight,  of  musical 
measures,  and  of  dancing. 

Montesquieu  observes,  that  dan- 
cing pleases  by  its  lightness,  by  a  cer- 
tain grace,  by  the  beauty  and  variety 
of  its  attitudes,  and  by  its  connec- 
tion with  music. 

It  is  but  fair  to  contrast  these  en- 
comiums with  Roman  opinions  on 
the  same  subject.  L.  Murena,  one  of 
the  consular  candidates,  was  brought 
to  trial  for  the  scandal  of  his  life ;  and 
the  greatest  crime  laid  to  his  charge 
was — dancing.  Cicero,  in  his  defence 
of  Murena,  admonishes  Cato  "  not  to 
bring  forward  such  a  calumny  as  to 
denominate  the  consul  of  Rome  a 
dancer;  and  to  consider  how  many 
crimes  a  man  must  be  guilty  of,  be- 
fore that  of  dancing  could  truly  be 
imputed  to  him ;  since  no  man  ever 
danced,  even  in  solitude  or  in  a  pri- 
vate company  of  friends,  who  was 
not  drunk  or  mad  —  dancing  being 


ABBEY    RUINS,    BY    MOONLIGHT. 


169 


known  as  the  last  act  of  riotous 
banquets  and  gay  scenes  of  dissolute 
jollity.  Cato,  therefore,  in  effect 
charged  Murena  with  the  offspring  of 
many  vices."  This  philippic  against 
dancing  has  been  paralleled  by  the 
declamation  of  fanatics  in  the  19th 
century,  who  carry  their  opposition 
to  that  harmless  pleasure  as  far  as  the 
Roman  censor,  or  the  orator  who  de- 
livered the  preceding  speech  sixty- 
four  years  before  the  Christian  era. 
The  authorities  in  favour  of  dan- 
cing exceed  beyond  comparison  the 
sentences  against  it.  We  shall  men- 
tion but  one  ancient  and  one  modern 
in  addition  to  the  above  citations.  If 
the  limping  poet  Tyrtosus  figured  as 


a  hero,  and  the  lame  Agesilaus  has 
been  celebrated  as  the  greatest  war- 
rior of  his  time,  the  Athenians  elect- 
ed Phrynicus  their  general,  because 
he  performed  the  pyrrhic  dance  ex- 
tremely well  in  a  play.  Lord  Craw- 
ford, distinguished  at  Fontenoy  by 
valour  and  presence  of  mind,  was  the 
finest  dancer  at  the  court  of  George  II. 
He  performed  the  pyrrhic  dance  in 
the  presence  of  their  majesties.  Ma- 
ny of  the  heroes  of  Waterloo  appear 
in  the  gay  quadrille  with  such  per- 
fection of  attitude  and  motion,  that  to 
them  may  be  applied  the  apt  enco- 
mium of  Noverre :  "  always  graceful, 
sometimes  a  butterfly,  sometimes  a 
zephyr."  B.  G. 


ABBEY  RUINS,  BY  MOONLIGHT. 

Imposing  must  have  been  the  sight, 

Ere  desolation  found  thee, 
When  morning's  radiance,  breaking  bright, 

With  new-born  glories  crown'd  thee; 

When,  rising  from  the  neigh'bring  deep, 

The  eye  of  day  survey'd  thee, 
Arous'd  thine  inmates  from  their  sleep, 

And  in  his  beams  array'd  thee. 

E'en  now  my  fancy  half  recals 

That  scene  of  long-past  splendour, 

And  sees  thy  proudly  sculptur'd  walls 
Reflected  light  surrender. 

I  see  the  bright  sun's  glorious  rays 

Thine  eastern  oriel  light'ning, 
Where  saints  and  martyrs  by  its  blaze 

In  rainbow  hues  are  bright'ning. 

Nor  thus  to  Fancy's  eye  alone 
Thine  earlier  glories  glisten ; 
Her  ear  can  dwell  on  many  a  tone, 
To  which  'tis  sweet  to  listen. 

Methinks  I  hear  the  matin  song 
From  those  proud  arches  pealing ; 

Now  loud  and  clear,  now  borne  along, 
On  echo  softly  stealing. 


1  /  0  ANECDOTES,    &C.  HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL 

And  yet,  however  grand  the  scene 
My  thoughts  have  been  pourtraying, 

To  me  more  touching  far,  I  ween, 
What  now  I  am  surveying. 

More  touching,  at  this  moonlight  hour, 

Art  thou  in  desolation, 
Than  in  thy  more  resplendent  power 

Of  earlier  decoration. 

More  softly  beautiful,  by  far, 

Thy  silent  ruins,  sleeping 
Insilv'ry  moonshine,  with  that  star 
Through  yonder  proud  arch  peeping. 

How  lovely  seems  that  wallflower  fringe, 

Which  crests  thy  turrets  hoary, 
Touch'd  by  the  moon-beams  with  a  tinge 

Of  long-departed  glory ! 

How  sweetly  looks  that  fleecy  cloud 

Upon  yon  tall  tower  resting, 
Contrasted  with  the  ivy  shroud 

Its  lofty  height  investing! 

How  spirit-soothing  is  the  sound 

Of  night-winds,  softly  sighing 
Through  roofless  walls  and  arches  round, 

And  then  in  silence  dying  ! 

Oh .'  let  thy  charms  be  what  they  would 
When  first  thy  towers  were  planted, 

A  nobler  still,  in  thought's  best  mood, 
Is  to  thy  ruins  granted  ! 

B. 


ANECDOTES,  &c. 

HISTORICAL,  LITERARY,  AND  PERSONAL. 


ANECDOTE   OF    A    PAWNEE    INDIAN. 

Among  the  Pawnee  tribes  of  North 
American  Indians,  the  name  of  Braves 
is  given  to  such  warriors  as  have  dis- 
tinguished themselves  in  battle,  and 
stand  highest  in  the  estimation  of 
their  countrymen.  The  following  a- 
necdote  of  a  Brave,  son  of  Old  Knife, 
is  taken  from  an  interesting  manu- 
script journal  of  Captain  Bell,  of 
his  expedition  to  the  foot  of  the  Roc- 
ky Mountains  in  1821,  and  the  facts 


are  authenticated  by  Major  O'Fallon, 
Indian  agent,  near  the  scene  of  the 
transaction  here  related,  and  also  by 
the  interpreter  who  witnessed  the 
scene. 

This  Brave,  of  fine  size,  figure, 
and  countenance,  is  now  about  twen- 
ty-five years  old.  At  the  age  of 
twenty-one  his  heroic  deeds  had  ac- 
quired him  in  his  nation  the  rank  of 
the  bravest  of  the  Braves.  The  sa- 
vage practice  of  torturing  and  burn- 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,"  LITERARY,    AND   PERSONAL. 


17 


ing  their  prisoners  to  death  existed 
in  this  nation.  To  this  horrid  death 
an  unfortunate  female  of  the  Paduca 
nation  taken  in  war  was  destined. 
The  fatal  hour  had  arrived :  the 
trembling  victim,  far  from  home  and 
friends,  was  fastened  to  the  stake: 
the  whole  tribe  was  assembled  on  the 
surrounding  plain  to  witness  the  aw- 
ful scene.  Just  when  the  funeral 
pile  was  about  to  be  kindled,  and 
the  whole  multitude  of  spectators 
were  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation, 
this  young  warrior,  having  unnoticed 
prepared  two  fleet  horses,  with  the 
necessary  provisions,  sprung  from 
his  seat,  rushed  through  the  crowd, 
liberated  the  victim,  caught  her  in 
his  arms,  placed  her  on  one  of  the 
horses,  mounted  the  other  himself, 
and  made  the  utmost  speed  towards 
the  nation  and  friends  of  the  captive. 
The  multitude,  dumb  and  nerveless 
with  amazement  at  the  daring  deed, 
made  no  effort  to  rescue  their  victim 
from  her  deliverer.  They  viewed  it 
as  the  immediate  act  of  the  Great 
Spirit,  submitted  to  it  without  a 
murmur,  and  quietly  retired  to  their 
village.  The  released  captive  was 
accompanied  three  days  through  the 
wilderness  towards  her  home ;  he 
then  gave  her  the  horse  on  which  she 
rode,  with  provisions  for  the  remain- 
der of  the  journey,  and  they  parted. 
On  his  return  to  the  village,  such 
was  his  popularity  that  no  inquiry 
was  made  into  his  conduct,  and  no 
censure  passed  on  it ;  and  since  this 
transaction,  no  human  sacrifice  has 
been  offered  in  this  or  in  any  other 
of  the  Pawnee  tribes.  The  practice 
is  abandoned.  Of  what  influence  is 
one  bold  act  in  a  good  cause ! 

The  publication  of  this  anecdote 
at  Washington  induced  the  young 
ladies  of  Miss  White's  seminary  in 


that  city,  in  a  manner  highly  credit- 
able to  their  good  sense  and  feeling, 
to  present  this  brave  and  humane 
Indian  with  a  handsome  silver  medal, 
with  an  appropriate  inscription,  as  a 
token  of  their  sincere  commendation 
of  the  noble  act.  Their  address  de- 
livered on  this  occasion  closed  thus: 
"  Brother,  accept  this  token  of  our 
esteem — always  wear  it  for  our  sakes 
— and  when  again  you  have  it  in  your 
power  to  save  a  poor  woman  from 
death  and  torture,  think  of  this  and 
of  us,  and  fly  to  her  relief  and  her 
rescue."  The  Pawnee's  reply  was  : 
"  Sisters,  this  medal  will  give  me 
ease  more  than  I  ever  had,  and  I 
will  listen  more  than  I  ever  did  to 
white  men.  I  am  glad  that  my  bro- 
thers and  sisters  have  heard  of  the 
good  act  that  I  have  done.  My  bro- 
thers and  sisters  think  that  I  did  it 
in  ignorance,  but  I  now  know  what 
I  have  done — I  did  it  in  ignorance, 
and  did  not  know  that  I  did  good ; 
but  by  giving  me  this  medal  I  know 
it." 


THE   VALOUR   OF    HUMANITY. 

In  the  summer  of  1819,  the  yellow 
fever  caused  dreadful  ravages  among 
the  British  troops  in  Jamaica — par- 
ticularly among  regiments  recently 
arrived.  The  contagion,  like  that 
at  Malta,  was  so  virulent,  that  all 
who  attended  the  sick,  with  few  ex- 
ceptions, fell  victims  to  their  self-de- 
votion. The  soldiers  who  would 
have  mounted  a  breach  "  to  the  can- 
non's mouth,"  were  appalled  by  the 
terrific  strides  of  disease,  and  in  a 
body  refused  to  wait  upon  the  sick. 
The  officers  represented  to  them  the 
cruelty  of  abandoning  their  brother 
soldiers  in  the  last  extremity  of  na- 
ture. After  a  short  pause,  four  pri- 
vates of  the  grenadiers  stepped  for- 


17^  ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,   LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL. 


ward,  and  offered  their  services  for 
a  duty  more  perilous  than  the  forlorn 
hope  in  storming  a  fortified  town. 
Two  of  these  brave  men  in  a  short 
time  fell  under  the  pestilence,  and 
the  two  others  withdrew  their  assist- 
ance. Every  heart  was  dismayed, 
when  Colonel  Hill  of  the  50th  re- 
giment heroically  addressed  the  men : 
"  Then,  my  men,  we  must  change 
coats.  Since  I  cannot  find  a  soldier 
who  will  risk  his  own  person  to  save 
the  lives  of  his  brothers  in  arms,  I 
must  take  the  duty  upon  myself." 
In  ten  days  this  true  hero,  this  bene- 
volent son  of  war,  added  another  to 
the  multitude  that  perished  by  the 
yellow  fever.  He  was  the  oldest 
officer  in  the  corps,  and  had  served 
forty-seven  years. 


WHITE    ELEPHANTS. 

White  elephants  are  rare  in  na- 
ture, and  so  greatly  valued  in  the 
Indies,  that  the  King  of  Pegu  hear- 
ing that  the  King  of  Siam  had  got 
two  of  those  singular  animals,  sent 
an  embassy  in  due  form  to  request 
one  of  them  as  a  token  of  friendship, 
or  to  purchase  it  at  any  price.  Being- 
refused,  he  thought  his  honour  con- 
cerned to  wage  war  for  such  an  in- 
tolerable affront.  So  he  entered 
Siam  with  a  vast  army,  and  at  the 
expense  of  a  million  of  lives,  reck- 
oning the  loss  on  both  sides,  he  made 
himself  master  of  the  white  ele- 
phants, and  retrieved  his  honour. 
u  Perplex'd  with  trifles  through  the  vale  of 

life, 
Man  strives  'gainst  man,  without  a  cause  for 

strife. 
Annies  embattled  meet,  and  thousands  bleed, 
For  some  vile  spot  where  fifty  cannot  feed. 
Squirrels  for  nuts   contend,    and  wrong  or 

right, 
For  the  world's  empire  kings  ambitious  fight. 
What  odds  to   us?  —  'tis   all  the   selfsame 

thing — 
A  nut,  a  world,  a  squirrel,  and  a  king." 


WITCHCRAFT. 

A  poor  infirm  creature  was  brought 
before  Chief  Justice  Holt  as  a  cri- 
minal of  the  most  abhorrent  nature. 
"  What  is  her  crime?"—"  Witch- 
craft."— "  How  is  this  proved?" — 
"  She  uses  a  spell." — "  Let  me  see 
it."  A  scrap  of  parchment  was 
handed  to  the  judge.  "  How  came 
you  by  this?"  said  he,  addressing  the 
culprit. — "  A  young  gentle -man,  my 
lord,  gave  it  me  to  cure  my  daugh- 
ter's ague." — "  Did  it  cure  her?" — 
"  Oh !  yes,  my  lord,  it  cured  her 
and  many  besides." — "  I  am  glad  of 
it.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  when  I 
was  young  and  frolicsome,  I  went  to 
this  woman's  public-house  with  some 
companions,  thoughtless  as  myself: 
we  had  not  among  us  money  enough 
to  clear  our  reckoning,  so  I  hit  upon 
a  stratagem  to  satisfy  our  hostess.  I 
observed  her  daughter  was  ill,  and 
pretended  I  had  a  spell  to  cure  her; 
I  wrote  the  classic  line  you  see :  so 
that  if  any  one  is  punishable  it  is  I, 
not  the  poor  woman,  now  a  prisoner." 
She  was  acquitted  by  the  jury,  and 
the  judge  "gave  her  a  pecuniary  com- 
pensation for  the  fright  and  obloquy 
she  had  suffered. 


REFORMATION. 

John  Bunyan,  the  well-known  au- 
thor of  the  Pilgrims  Progress,  was 
born  and  reared  as  a  travelling  tin- 
ker, whose  father,  and  probably  all 
his  progenitors,  exercised  the  same 
disreputable  calling.  Having  enter- 
ed the  parliamentary  army  during 
the  civil  wars,  he  was  imprisoned  at 
the  restoration ;  and  while  in  confine- 
ment he  wrote  the  celebrated  allegory 
that  has  immortalized  his  name. 


VOLUNTARY   SUSPENSION    OF    ANIMA- 
TION. 

Dr.  Cheyne  tells  us  that  he  and 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL.  173 


Dr.  Baynard,  with  Mr.  Skrine,  apo- 
thecary to  Colonel  T  nvnsend,  waited 
on  that  gentleman,  who  informed 
them  he  had  discovered  that  he  pos- 
sessed the  facultyof  expiring,  or  seem- 
ing to  expire,  at  pleasure.  He  had 
suffered  much  with  a  nephritic  dis- 
order, but  spoke  sensibly  and  dis- 
tinctly, though  in  a  weak  voice,  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour.  "  He  then 
insisted,"  says  Dr.  Cheyne,  "  that 
we  should  witness  his  deathlike  as- 
sumptions. We  all  felt  his  pulse. 
It  was  quick  but  steady.  He  then 
composed  himself  on  his  back:  while 
I  held  his  right-hand  pvdse,  Dr.  Bay- 
nard kept  his  hand  on  the  patient's 
heart,  and  Mr.  Skrine  held  a  bright 
looking-glass  to  his  mouth.  We  per- 
ceived a  gradual  sinking  of  the  pulse, 
and  not  a  soil  of  his  breath  could 
be  discerned  on  the  looking-glass. 
We  all  examined  the  state  of  his 
pulse,  and  the  appearance  of  the 
mirror.  Not  a  symptom  of  life  re- 
mained, and  we  were  so  alarmed, 
that  we  proposed  informing  Colonel 
Townsend's  friends  of  his  decease; 
but  in  about  half  an  hour  the  signs 
of  animation  by  degrees  returned.*' 

These  are  not  the  exact  words  of 
Dr.  Cheyne,  but  the  sense  is  cor- 
rectly preserved. 


THE    AMERICAN    MOCKING-BIRD. 

When  Colonel  Hippesley,  after 
sailing  up  the  Oronoco,  had  turned 
into  the  Apure,  on  the  way  to  San 
Fernando,  his  people  as  usual  landed 
to  cook  their  suppers,  and  to  rest  for 
the  night.  At  daybreak  the  colonel 
called  aloud  for  one  of  the  officers, 
and  Mas  told  that  he  had  gone  to 
some  distance.  In  a  few  seconds  he 
heard  a  voice,  similar  to  his  own,  cry 
out,  "  Denis!  Denis!  Denis!"  with 
Vol  II.  No.  IX. 


the  usual  pause  between  each  excla- 
mation. This  call  Captain  Denis 
heard,  and  answered  that  he  would 
come  directly.  From  the  constant 
repetition,  he  concluded  that  the 
business  must  be  urgent,  and  hasten- 
ed accordingly.  Several  of  the  non- 
commissioned officers  who  heard  the 
call,  directed  others  to  pass  the  word 
for  Captain  Denis,  as  the  colonel 
wanted  him.  His  hurried  attendance 
surprised  the  colonel,  and  on  inquiry 
into  the  circumstances,  he  found  his 
very  attentive,  obliging,  repeating 
friend  in  the  form  of  a  bird,  perched 
on  a  tall  tree  near  him.  The  voices 
and  movements  around  caused  him  to 
betake  himself  to  flight,  making  the 
woods  re-echo  the  name  of  Denis. 


MAGAZINES. 

These  light,  elegant  productions 
of  the  press  act  in  the  social  body 
the  part  which  the  nerves  and  veins 
of  each  individual  perform  in  con- 
veying sensation  and  nutriment  to  the 
physical  frame.  They  excite,  en- 
courage, and  unfold  the  powers  of 
genius.  They  supply  variety  adapt- 
ed to  every  taste,  and  beneficial  sug- 
gestions appropriate  to  each  diversity 
of  condition.  They  are  the  most 
pleasing  compendiums  of  learning, 
of  science,  and  of  the  arts:  they 
dispense  solid  reflections  for  the  se- 
rious and  amusement  for  the  gay, 
and  they  circulate  with  rapidity  a 
knowledge  of  new  inventions  or  im- 
provements. They  are  the  empo- 
riums of  mental  food  and  medicine; 
and  they  are  safe  guides  in  all  the 
intricacies  of  fashionable  attire  and 
furniture.  In  every  branch  of  in- 
formation they  contain  multum  in 
parvo.  They  stimulate  the  indolent 
to  the  acquisition  of  some  intelli- 

A  A 


174 


HISTORY    OF    11URTADO    AND    MIRANDA. 


gence ;  they  fill  up  in  the  most  agree- 
able manner  any  interval  of  leisure 
obtained  by  the  busy;  they  divert 
the  invalid  from  that  self-attention 
which  aggravates  suffering;  and  to 
such  as  cannot  afford  the  purchase 
of  a  library,  they  impart,  at  a  cheap 
rate,  a  select  acquaintance  with  lite- 
rature and  with  the  manners  of  the 


times  "  living  as  they  rise."  A  fa- 
mily residing  in  the  country  would 
be  ignorant  of  many  particulars  de- 
sirable to  be  known,  unless  the  month- 
ly miscellany  conveyed  pictures  of 
town-existence,  and  wafted  to  them 
the  intellectual  stores  of  numberless 
publications. 


HISTORY  OF  HURTADO  AND  MIRANDA. 


In  1526,  Sebastian  Cabot,  grand 
pilot  of  Castile,  was  ordered  to  South 
America  by  the  Emperor  Charles  V. 
with  a  small  fleet  and  some  soldiers, 
and  a  promise  of  speedy  reinforce- 
ments, that  might  enable  him  to  un- 
dertake some  great  enterprize.  Af- 
ter waiting  two  years,  Cabot  return- 
ed to  Spain,  to  expedite  the  arma- 
ment. He  left  Nuna  de  Lara  go- 
vernor of  Buenos  Ayres,  with  in- 
junctions to  maintain  that  amicable 
traffic  with  the  natives  which  hither- 
to had  procured  supplies  of  provision 
for  the  garrison.  The  good  under- 
standing continued,  until  Mangora, 
cacique  of  Timbucy,  became  violent- 
ly enamoured  of  Miranda,  a  Spanish 
lady,  who  had  recently  arrived  with 
her  husband,  an  officer  of  high  rank 
and  conspicuous  merit.  Mangora, 
accustomed  to  illimitable  licentious- 
ness among  his  subject  tribes,  sup- 
posed he  might  accomplish  his  base 
design,  if  Miranda  could  be  invei- 
gled to  his  territory.  He  often  sent 
her  presents  of  the  small  luscious  fig 
which  grows  on  the  pitahaya,  a  tree 
that  produces  no  leaves,  but  the  arms, 
elegantly  fluted,  and  loaded  with 
crimson  fruit,  display  singular  beau- 
ty ;  and  Mangora  assured  the  lady, 
she  would  find  that  its  produce,  tak- 
en fresh  from  the  foot-stalks,  had  a 
much  finer  flavour  than  when  carried 


to  some  distance.  As  the  pitahaya, 
when  eaten  just  off  the  tree,  conduc- 
ed to  health  and  longevity,  the  ca- 
cique urged  Hurtado  to  take  his 
lovely  spouse,  at  least  once  in  a  moon, 
to  renovate  her  constitution  with  this 
salutary  fruit,  which  grew  only  at 
Timbucy  and  some  remote  quarters 
of  California.  He  argued,  that  though 
near  the  Spanish  garrison  many 
herbs,  shrubs,  and  trees  charmed 
the  senses;  though  the  red  cedar 
grew  to  an  enormous  height;  theflo- 
ripendia  diffused  rich  perfumes;  the 
molle  conferred  wine ;  the  luma  chas- 
ed away  fever  and  debility;  the  tuna 
and  wild  orange  refreshed  the  labour- 
er;  the  patague,  with  stupendous 
trunk  and  massive  umbrage,  afforded 
a  grateful  shade,  and  its  clustering 
flowers  decked  the  sportive  little  ones 
in  their  dance;  though  the  favour- 
ite of  the  great  spirit,  the  sacred  ca- 
nello,  inspired  the  Indians  with  eve- 
ry pious,  kind,  and  liberal  sentiment 
as  they  drew  near  to  the  abode  of  il- 
lustrious strangers ;  the  thorny  carob 
and  taper  could  supply  nails  and 
needles;  the  exhilarating  cullen,  ja- 
rella,  palqui,  and  a  thousand  other 
blossomy,  leafy,  and  wooded  retreats 
were  formed  within  the  precincts  oc- 
cupied by  the  Europeans:  yet  Tim- 
bucy surpassed  them  all  as  a  region 
of  various  fertility;  and  frequent  so- 


IltSTOIlY    OF    TtUItTADO    AND    MIRANDA. 


175 


j burns  there  would  add  to  the  pre- 
cious days  of  Miranda. 

So  pleaded  the  artful  Mangora  ; 
and  Hurtado,  a  generous  Castilian, 
accepted  his  invitation;  but  the  sen- 
sitive delicacy  of  Miranda  had  been 
alarmed  by  symptoms  in  the  behavi- 
our of  the  cacique,  and  she  prevailed 
with  her  lord  to  send  for  her  an  apo- 
logy couched  in  respectful,  yet  deci- 
sive terms;  and  so  conciliatory  as  to 
give  no  offence,  since  the  subsistence 
of  the  fort  depended  in  a  great  mea- 
sure upon  the  Timbucyans.  Mango- 
ra dissembled  the  pangs  of  disap- 
pointment, purposing  to  effect  by 
stratagem  what  he  despaired  of  ac- 
complishing by  more  gentle  allure- 
ments. 

He  knew  that  Hurtado  often  went 
as  the  conductor  of  a  party  of  soldiers 
employed  to  purchase  stores.  He 
directed  some  of  his  creatures  to 
watch  the  motions  of  the  unsuspect- 
ing officer,  and  soon  learned  he  was 
gone  upon  a  foraging  circuit,  which 
would  detain  him  several  weeks.  A 
large  party  of  the  bravest  Indians 
were  placed  in  ambuscade  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  fort,  and  Mangora 
came  thither,  attended  by  a  few  trus- 
ty men,  bearing  gifts  of  grain  and 
fruits.  Nuna  de  Lara  welcomed  the 
cacique  with  all  marks  of  deference, 
and  in  perfect  amity  they  seemed  to 
be  while  they  partook  of  a  sumptu- 
ous banquet.  Mangora  appeared  to 
forget  his  royal  state  in  careless  con- 
vivial glee.  The  gayest  of  the  social 
circle,  he  sprung  from  his  seat,  danc- 
ing in  transports  of  inebriated  mirth. 
This  was  a  preconcerted  signal  for  as- 
sault. All  the  Europeans  fell  be- 
neath the  savage  exterminat'mgsword ; 
but  righteous  Providence  did  not  suf- 
fer Mangora  to  triumph  in  his  per- 
fidious crime.     As  soon  as  the  trea- 


chery became  apparent,  Nuna  de 
Lara  aimed  a  mortal  thrust  at  his 
heart. 

Miranda,  with  four  other  Spanish 
females  and  some  children,  was 
spared  from  the  general  massacre, 
and  carried  to  Sirapia,  the  brother 
and  successor  of  Mangora.  Unhap- 
pily he  also  inherited  the  same  ill- 
fated  susceptibility  of  passion  for 
European  beauty;  and  the  attractions 
of  Miranda  were  rendered  more  af- 
fecting by  profound,  yet  dignified 
grief.  The  majestic  graces  of  ge- 
nuine virtue,  the  pathetic  appeals  to 
his  nobler  feelings,  humanized  the 
savage  chief.  He  behaved  to  his 
captive  with  tender  respect,  and  with 
refined  submission  granted  every  re- 
quest she  made,  excepting  always 
her  weeping  entreaties  to  be  restored 
to  her  husband. 

The  unfortunate  Hurtado  return- 
ing to  his  garrison,  saw  the  scathed, 
ruined,  deserted  pile,  and  immedi- 
ately conceived  the  origin  and  ex- 
tent of  his  calamity.  To  ascertain 
whether  Miranda  was  involved  in  the 
slaughter,  or  had  been  reserved  for 
a  more  dreadful  doom,  he  examined 
every  corpse  —  Miranda's  was  not 
among  them.  In  his  distracting  rage, 
he  rushed  forth  to  demand  her  from 
the  Indians.  Sirapia,  being  informed 
of  his  vehement  claim,  ordered  him 
to  be  seized  and  led  to  execution, 
Miranda's  tears  procured  a  respite 
for  her  faithful  and  beloved  spouse. 
Her  interpreter  even  persuaded  the 
cacique  to  grant  her  supplication  for 
a  meeting  with  Hurtado.  Sirapia 
hoped  that  a  youthful  chieftain,  in 
all  the  pride  of  conquest  and  superb 
ornament,  would  be  advantageously 
contrasted  with  the  Spaniard,  verg- 
ing past  the  prime  of  life,  his  clothes 
torn  and  covered  with  dust,  his  limbs 


17(5 


POUTRAIT    OF    AN    OLD    MAID. 


bound  with  chains  and  worn  down 
with  fatigue.  He  knew  not  the  ex- 
alted attachment  which  endeared  to 
Miranda  the  great  and  good  quali- 
ties and  the  talents  of  Hurtado,  more 
than  his  personal  recommendations. 
Sirapia  had  warned  Miranda,  that 
the  first  word  she  spoke  to  Hurtado 
would  pronounce  his  irrevocable  de- 
struction; and  as  a  triumph  over  his 
rival,  he  commanded  her  to  sing. 
She  complied.  Sirapia  did  not  un- 
derstand the  Spanish  language  ;  the 
Indians,  stationed  around  the  red  ce- 
dars as  a  guard,  were  not  so  near  as 
to  distinguish  the  words,  and  Miranda 
communicated  her  thoughts  to  the 
music  of  a  lively  strain,  hoping  to 
deceive  the  tyrant  by  tones  so  incom- 
patible with  sorrowful  emotion.  Their 
eyes   betrayed   the  interchanges  of 


fondness;  and  maddened  by  jealousy, 
the  cacique  darted  a  long  dagger  at 
the  fettered  Hurtado;  Miranda  flew 
to  her  husband  to  ward  off  the  stroke, 
and  clinging  to  her  dearer  self,  re- 
ceived the  steel  in  her  spotless  bosom. 
Hurtado  loaded  her  murderer  with 
reproaches,  and  with  his  head,  the 
only  member  he  had  at  liberty,  gave 
him  a  furious  blow.  Sirapia  drew 
the  reeking  blade  from  Miranda's 
body,  and  plunged  it  to  the  hilt  in 
her  husband's  bowels.  Yet  even  in 
death  Sirapia  would  not  suffer  Mi- 
randa and  Hurtado  to  be  united.  By 
his  orders  the  corse  of  Miranda  was 
inhumed  within  the  grove  of  red  ce- 
dars. Hurtado  was  committed  to 
the  earth  in  a  spot  beyond  the  Tim- 
bucyan  territory. 

B.  G. 


PORTRAIT  OF  AN  OLD  MAID. 
TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sir, 

The  truthful  candour  in  the 
apology  for  old  maids  in  your  July 
Number,  encourages  me  to  send  you 
a  character  from  real  life,  which  pre- 
sents an  illustration  of  your  senti- 
ments regarding  the  important  duties 
voluntarily  undertaken  by  many  spin- 
sters. The  flatterers  and  satirists  of 
the  fair  endeavour  to  shew  that 
amusement  is  the  great  end  of  female 
existence.  Truth  probably  may  be 
found  between  those  extremes,  since 
fine  ladies,  like  fine  gentlemen,  have 
cares  and  avocations  which  constitute 
laborious  idleness;  and  the  residue 
of  their  time  is  spent  in  flying  to 
public  places,  or  crowded  private 
parties,  to  escape  from  the  ennui  of 
tasteless  individuality.  Is  it  too  sen- 
tentious to  remind  them,  that  in  try- 


ing to  deceive  time,  they  miserably 
deceive  themselves  ?  Life  becomes  in- 
sipid as  a  "  twice  told  tale"  when 
the  natural  relish  for  tranquil,  inde- 
pendent self-enjoyment  is  vitiated  by 
a  restless  craving  for  novelty.  Does 
it  beseem  a  rational,  an  immortal 
mind  to  perplex  its  noble  faculties 
with  schemes  of  dissipated  gaiety, 
that  bestow  much  less  than  the  an- 
ticipated pleasure,  and  necessarily 
impose  some  gloomy  intermissions  of 
the  pursuit,  to  repair  the  physical  in- 
juries to  a  frame  debilitated  by  late 
hours  and  over-heated  rooms? 

The  ever-new  diversity  produced 
by  a  change  from  one  useful  employ- 
ment to  another  unbends  and  sti- 
mulates the  intellectual  powers,  and 
qualifies  a  lady  to  shine  and  to  charm 
in  society  by  that  sportive  vacancy 


MUSICAL    llKVIIiW. 


177 


of  thought  which  can  belong  only  to 
those  who  derive  buoyancy  of  spirits 
from  an  habitual  consciousness  of 
acting  aright.  They  are  most  con- 
spicuous for  cheerful  suavity  in  bril- 
liant assemblages  who  are  best  em- 
ployed during  retirement.  True  hi- 
larity is  essentially  distinct  from  the 
elaborate  vivacity  which  vanity  tries 
to  assume,  but  never  can  grace  with 
the  dulcifying  attractions  of  unaf- 
fected good  humour.  Beauty  of 
countenance  emanates  only  from  the 
soul. 

Allow  me  to  attempt  some  deline- 
ation of  a  lady  who  acknowledges 
she  has  ceased  to  be  young,  and  who 
applied  to  herself  the  epithet  of  old 
maid  before  the  delicate  tints  of  her 
complexion  shewed  a  symptom  of 
autumnal  maturity.  Her  features 
were  not  regularly  beautiful,  but  their 
benign  and  intelligent  expression  pro- 
cured her  many  admirers.  One  she 
chose — he  died  in  the  service  of  his 
country,  and  no  other  has  since  made 
an  impression  on  her  widowed  heart. 
She  has  sought  and  obtained  conso- 
lation by  promoting  the  happiness  of 
others,  and  cultivating  her  own  ta- 
lents. She  is  the  most  assiduously 
dutiful  daughter,  the  fondest  sister, 
the  kindest  and  most  instructive  aunt, 
and  the  most  liberal  benefactress  of 
all  who  require  her  assistance.  She 
is  never  without  objects  of  interest. 
Her  leisure  moments  are  filled  up  by 
the  harp,  piano-forte,  pencil,  pen,  or 
needle;  or  she  entertains  herself  and 
benefits  her  nieces  by  reading  aloud 


from  works  that  affect  the  heart 
through  the  medium  of  the  imagina- 
tion. But  a  certain  portion  of  each 
day  is  set  aside  for  the  perusal  of 
works  on  religious  subjects  and  such 
as  afford  solid  knowledge.  She  ex- 
tends her  mental  culture  to  several 
nephews;  but  no  parade  of  wisdom 
or  learning  impairs  the  dignified  sim- 
plicity of  her  manners  and  conver- 
sation. She  still  dances  with  the 
young  to  make  up  a  country  dance  ; 
and  for  a  moderate  stake  will  take  a 
hand  at  cards  to  complete  a  party 
for  the  elderly:  but  she  says  that 
gaming  is  no  better  than  a  device  to 
separate  the  profits  of  spoliation  from 
its  infamy  and  legal  penalties;  and 
she  anxiously  inculcates  to  her  ne- 
phews, that  this  ruinous  vice  increa- 
ses with  increasing  years.  Grosser 
excesses  have  intervals  of  satiety,  or 
they  subside  with  the  decrepitude  of 
age ;  but  good  or  ill  luck,  and  per- 
sonal decays,  serve  but  to  augment 
the  furor  of  gambling.  It  seems  at 
first  a  harmless  amusement,  an  ex- 
ercise of  the  understanding ;  yet  in 
its  progress  the  avidity  for  gain  is 
inflamed  by  success,  or  losses  ope- 
rate as  incentives  to  calculate  the 
chances  with  greater  precision.  She 
tells  the  youths,  and  proves  the  as- 
sertion, that  gambling  is  a  trade  more 
degrading  than  the  most  sordid  toil 
for  daily  bread.  My  friend  main- 
tains a  conduct  worthy  of  her  opi- 
nions— all  her  winnings  are  sacred 
to  charity.  B.  G. 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Mozart's  Six  Grand  Symphonies, 
arranged  for  the  Piano-forte,  with 
Accompaniments  for  the  Flute, 
Violin,  and  Violoncello,  by  J.  N. 


Hummel,  Maitre  de  Chapelle  to 
the  Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar.  No. 
VI.  Pr.  Ss.  6d. :  without  Accom- 
paniments, 6s. — (Printed  and  sold 


178 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


for  the   Proprietor  by  Chappell 
and  Co.  New  Bond-street.) 
This  is  the  celebrated  symphony 
universally  known  by  the  name  of 
Jupiter,  an  appellation  given  to  it 
after  Mozart's  death  on  account  of 
its  excellence.     It  is  no  doubt  this 
circumstance,  and  the  estimation  in 
which  the  work  is  held  in  England, 
and  perhaps  too  a  rival  adaptation 
recently  produced  in  England  by  a 
professor  of  equally  high  repute,  that 
may  have  induced  Mr.  Hummel,  or 
the  proprietor  of  the  present  publi- 
cation, to  make  this  exception  in  the 
order  of  the  symphonies  by  editing 
No.   6.   immediately    after   the  ap- 
pearance of  Nos.  1.  and  2.  noticed  in 
a  former  Number  of  our  Miscellany. 
The  other  adaptation  here  alluded 
to  we  have  not  seen:    it  may,  for 
ought  we  know,  equal  the  arrange- 
ment before  us;  but  we  should  be 
surprised  if  it  excelled  it :  for  it  is 
not  possible  to  imagine  any  thing  su- 
perior to  Mr.  Hummel's  concentra- 
tion of  the  score.     Had  we  not  seen 
it,  we  should,  on  the  contrary,  have 
doubted  the  possibility  of  extracting 
the  quintessence  of  so  many,  such 
rich  and  complex  parts,  with  such  per- 
fection.     This   is   not   our   opinion 
alone;  several  of  the  highest  musical 
characters,    among   them    Mr.  Mo- 
scheles,  have  viewed  Mr.  Hummers 
labour  with  admiration. 
Four  Songs,  with   an   Accompani- 
ment for   the   Piano-forte,    com- 
posed, and  dedicated  to  Mrs.  John 
Garratt,   of  Surbiton-House,  by 
Frances  Foster  Wensley.     Pr.  7s. 
— (Published  by  the  Author,    7, 
Percy-street,  Bedford-square.) 
Is  it  possible?  Such  music  by  a 
"  very  young  author*,"  and,  what  is 
*  With  this  designation  the  publica- 
tion reached  us. 


more,  by  a  lady? — Good!  we  feel 
doubly  indebted  to  Miss  W. ;  for  if 
she  has  not  absolutely  sung  us  out 
of  a  rooted  prejudice,  which,  but 
for  these  songs,  we  might  have  car- 
ried to  the  other  world,  she  certainly 
has  greatly  shaken  our  creed. 

The  sex  has  produced  not  only 
novel-writers  by  thousands,  and  au- 
thoresses for  the  nursery  equally 
abundant,  but  occasionally,  too,  good 
painters  and  sculptors,  celebrated 
classical  scholars,  and  even  mathe- 
maticians. In  music  also  we  have 
had  at  all  times  excellent  instrumental 
performers  and  singers  of  universal 
and  deserved  celebrity ;  that  is  to  say, 
ladies  capable  of  performing  or  sing- 
ing exquisitely  that  which  men  wrote. 

But  female  composers  ? We  know 

of  none,  or  rather  until  the  28th  of 
last  month  we  knew  of  none,  whose 
lucubrations  we  would  have  purchas- 
ed at  quarter  price,  except  for  cu- 
riosity's sake. 

This  phenomenon,  in  a  physiolo- 
gical point  of  view,  frequently  ex- 
cited our  attention.  A  sex,  often  our 
superior  in  sentiment  and  sensibility, 
in  wit,  in  quickness  and  delicacy  of 
perception,  and  in  other  intellectual 
qualities,  why  should  it  be  unsuc- 
cessful in  musical  composition? 

Willing  to  find  reasons  for  what 
we  set  down  as  fact,  we  supposed 
that  musical  invention  (we  mean  of 
course  music  of  a  superior  stamp, 
such  as  could  claim  the  applause  of 
the  musical  world  at  large,)  required 
not  only  a  depth,  an  intensity  of  feel- 
ing seldom  met  with  in  the  gentler 
sex,  but  also  a  course  of  profound 
and  continued  study,  either  more 
congenial  to  the  natural  organization 
of  the  male  intellect,  or  perhaps  more 
accessible  to  its  grasp,  from  exclusive 
advantages  in  the  system  of  education. 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


179 


These  speculations,  besides  the 
confirmation  which  they  derive  from 
craniology,  were  strongly  supported 
by  a  curious  observation.  On  cast- 
ing our  eyes  from  man  to  other  ani- 
mated beings,  we  found,  that  of  the 
few  which  possessed  any  instinct  for 
music  (the  birds),  the  male  sang,  and 
the  female  was  either  mute  or  voca- 
lized very  indifferently  indeed.  We 
had  once  a  canary-hen  that  would 
occasionally,  on  a  fine  summer's 
morning,  make  an  attempt  at  com- 
position, in  responsive  imitation  of 
the  fanciful  passages  of  her  male  ac- 
quaintance in  the  other  cage;  but 
the  poor  and  imperfect  phrases  she 
produced  with  evident  effort  only 
tended  to  corroborate  our  hypothesis. 
But  what  becomes  of  our  hypo- 
thesis after  Miss  Wensley's  songs? 
Shall  we  exclaim,  "  Exceptio  probat 
regulam  ?"  Are  we  to  recant  for  the 
sake  of  one  exception?  Are  boys  ca- 
pable of  great  excellence  in  mathe- 
matics, because  the  American  youth 
astonished  Europe  in  some  branches 
of  that  science?  We  have  already 
owned  that  our  belief  has  received  a 
shock;  one  or  two  instances  more, 
and  we  shall  be  the  first  to  acknow- 
ledge the  downfall  of  the  baseless 
fabric,  the  first  to  make  the  amende 
honorable  to  the  whole  sex,  were  it 
even  to  be  done  in  a  white  sheet. 

The  above  digression  has  consi- 
derably trenched  upon,  the  space 
which  a  proper  consideration  of  these 
songs  would  demand.  Their  charac- 
ter  is  more  or  less  of  a  serious  stamp ; 
the  melodies,  with  a  reminiscence 
here  and  there,  present  various  fea- 
tures of  originality,  classic  chaste- 
ness  almost  throughout,  and  frequent- 
ly great  depth  of  feeling  and  fervid 
emotion.  These  merits  are  further 
enhanced  by  striking  points  of  inter- 


est in    the   accompaniment.      Some 
venial  imperfections  in  the  latter  can 
scarcely  demand  the  critic's  notice, 
when  he  finds  so  much  to  commend 
in  this  particular  department.  Whe- 
ther the  harmonic  merits  be  rather 
the  fruits  of  a  cultivated  taste,  a  de- 
licate tact  acquired  from  good  mo- 
dels, than  of  a  regular  study  of  the 
art  of  counterpoint,  we  must  do  Miss 
W.  the  justice  to  say,  that  her  songs 
contain  passages,  especially  those  of 
instrumental  connection,  which  would 
do  honour  to  any  composer  living. 
In  her  transitions  and  modulations 
Miss  W.'s  talent  is  equally  conspi- 
cuous; fearless  of  accumulated  flats, 
she  enters  the  harmonic  labyrinth, 
proceeds  with  a  steady  step,  and  ex- 
tricates herself  safely  and  success- 
fully.    This  remark  is  particularly 
applicable  to  the  fourth  song  in  the 
difficult  key  of  Bb  minor,  the  "  seri- 
ous" text  of  which  about  "  Death" 
and  "  Sin"  may  lessen  its  general 
attraction,  but  not  its  musical  value. 
We  have  said  enough  to  convey 
to  our  readers  the  high  opinion  of 
the   author's   gifts   for    composition 
with  which  these  songs  have  impress- 
ed us ;  and  we  can  only  recommend 
to  Miss  W.  to  pursue  the  path  upon 
which  she  has    entered   with   such 
eminent  success.     In  her  choice  of 
text  she  will  no  doubt  be  guided  by 
the  taste  which  directs  her  own  pen ; 
it  ought  to  be  such  as  to  be  worthy 
of  the  exertion  of  her  talents,  and 
to  be  directed  to  some  variety  in  the 
tenor  of  the  poetry,  not  to  confine  it- 
self to  effusions  of  a  serious   cast. 
The  tender  passion,  in  all  its  varie- 
ties and  vicissitudes,  has  in  every  age 
been  deemed  the  legitimate  object 
of  song;  and  surely  the  fair  sex  will 
not  disdain  to  devote  some  strains  to 
it.     The  beauties  of  nature,  scenes 


180 


MUSICAL    HLVILW. 


of  pastoral  life,  &c.  likewise  present 
fit  subjects  to  the  lyric  Muse. 

But  whatever  be  the  next  effort  of 
Miss  W.'s  talent,  we  look  towards  it 
with  sanguine  hope,  indeed  with 
something  bordering  on  impatience. 
No.  I.  Juvenile  Songs,  a  Selection 
of  Poetry  from  the  best  Authors, 
with  original  Airs,  respectfully 
dedicated  to  Samuel  Webbe,  Esq. 
by  Eliz.  Est.  Hamond.  Pr.  5s. — 
(Mitchells,  New  Bond-street.) 
Another  production  of  a  fair  com- 
poser, but  of  a  calibre  which  would 
have  less  staggered  our  hypothesis 
above  adverted  to.  At  the  same  time 
we  feel  bound  to  make  every  allow- 
ance for  the  obvious  aim  with  which 
these  songs  have  been  written.  la- 
tended  for  youth,  it  would  be  pre- 
posterous to  expect  ideas  and  combi- 
nations of  the  higher  order.  All  we 
could  be  entitled  to  demand  in  the 
present  case  would  be  easy  cantable 
intelligible  melody,  straight-forward 
and  proper  harmony,  and  plain  and 
correct  rhythm ;  and  in  the  six  songs 
before  us  there  is  much  that  comes 
within  these  requisites.  They  are, 
however,  more  or  less  liable  to  ob- 
jection as  to  extent  of  scale.  Their 
aggregate  range  is  close  upon  two 
octaves,  and  the  fourth  song  embra- 
ces a  scale  from  d  to  a  ,  extremes 
beyond  the  reach  of  most  "juvenile" 
voices.  In  other  respects  this  song 
is  fully  entitled  to  our  approbation, 
pleasant,  lively,  and  clear.  "  The 
Hare-Bell"  and  "  The  Traveller's 
Return"  likewise  present  various  fea- 
tures of  attraction,  and  their  general 
construction  is  creditable.  "  Loch 
Achray"  is  less  to  our  liking :  it  has 
but  little  melodic  interest;  there  is  a 
want  of  connection  in  the  periods; 
the  vocal  part  is  too  high  and  too 
low  5  and  in  the  first  line,  p.  16,  strong 


harmonic  imperfections  are  percep- 
tible. 

"  The  Winter  Rose,"  a  Ballad,  writ- 
ten by  Mrs.  Opie,  composed,  and 
inscribed  to  Mrs.  Yates,  by  Sa- 
muel Webbe.  Pr.  Is.  6d  —  (Pres- 
ton, Dean-street,  Soho.) 
"  The  Winter  Rose"  partakes  of 
its  season:  it  is  a  very  serious  and 
solemn  composition,  bordering  on  the 
church  style,  especially  the  strain  in 
E  minor.  There  is  a  want  of  unity 
in  the  conception  of  the  melody,  which 
strays  through  all  sorts  of  harmony, 
without  leaving  the  mind  to  settle  it- 
self sufficiently  in  any  tonic.  Mr.  W. 
is  a  good  harmonist,  and  has  shewn 
it  here,  as  in  many  previous  compo- 
sitions; but  in"  The  Winter  Rose" 
his  partiality  for  modulation  has  been 
gratified  at  the  expense  of  melody. 
The  voice  is  constantly  on  the  move 
to  slide  into  new  harmonies,  and  seems 
to  act  but  a  subordinate  part.  As  an 
harmonic  study,  the  song  claims  eve- 
ry attention,  and,  as  we  have  already 
stated,  exhibits  Mr.  W.'s  talents  to 
advantage. 

Vocal  Anthology,  or  the  Flow- 
ers of  Song,  being  a  Collection  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  esteemed 
Music  of  all  Europe,  with  Eng- 
lish   Words;   also  an  Appendix, 
consisting  of  Original  Vocal  Com- 
positions, and  a  Catalogue  rai- 
sonee  (raisonne?)  of  the  Contents. 
Part  IV.    Price   6s.  — (J.   Gale, 
Bruton-street,  Bond-street.) 
The  nature  and  object  of  this  work 
have  been  stated  in  our  notice  of  its 
first  three  numbers.  We  need,  there- 
fore, only  add,  that,  in  point  of  se- 
lection and  general  arrangement,  the 
present  part  fully  maintains  the  cha- 
racter which  its  predecessors  have 
established.    The  contents  comprise 
an  ancient  madrigal  by  Conversi,  of 


] 


LONDON    FASHIONS'. 


181 


great  merit  for  the  time — a  duet  of 
Handel, "  Who  calls  my  parting  soul" 
— three  German  compositions  of 
Zumsteeg,  Himmel,  Beethoven,  and 
one,  if  we  are  not  mistaken,  by  Hur- 
ka — Cherubini's  "  Perfida  Chlori," 
and  an  original  and  very  pretty  duet 
by  Cather. 

The  literary  part,  among  various 
interesting  notices,  includes  a  concise 
sketch  of  the  life  of  Beethoven  (the 
Byron  of  composers),  further  parti- 
culars of  Mozart,  &c. 
Introduction  and  Triumphal  March, 
by  Samuel  Webbe,  forming,  with 
the  celebrated  Dead  March  by 
Handel,  a  Duet  for  the  Harp  and 
Piano-forte,  two  Piano-fortes,  or 


two  Performers  on  one.    Pr.  2s. — i 

(Chappell  and  Co). 

The  peculiarity  in  this  publication 
is,  that  it  consists  of  two  parts,  each 
of  which  may  be  played  singly  ;  and 
they,  at  the  same  time,  serve  to  be  si- 
multaneously executed  either  on  one 
piano-forte  or  on  two  piano-fortes. 
We  had  alittle  trouble  to  understand 
this  arrangement  clearly,  and,  we 
dare  say,  it  cost  the  author  some  trou- 
ble and  contrivance  to  realize  this 
compendious  and  rather  novel  idea. 
As  a  musical  curiosity,  therefore, 
and  a  work  of  some  ingenuity  in 
point  of  harmonic  construction,  this 
trifle  unquestionably  deserves  atten- 
tion. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


MORNING    DRESS. 

LAVENDER-colour  dress  of  gros  de 
Naples  or  lutestring,  ornamented  in 
front  with  a  pinnatifid  satin  trimming 
of  the  same  colour;  narrow  at  the 
waist,  and  extending  in  width  till  it 
reaches  the  trimming  at  the  bottom 
of  the  skirt,  where  it  is  placed  longi- 
tudinally; beneath  b  a  broad  satin 
rouleau.  The  corsage  is  made  three- 
quarters  high,  plain,  with  a  satin 
band  of  French  folds  round  the  top, 
and  fastens  with  hooks  and  eyes: 
corded  satin  ceinture,  with  a  cluster 
of  crescent -shaped  points  behind. 
Long  sleeve,  ornamented  at  the  wrist 
with  satin  to  correspond,  and  fasten- 
ed with  knots  of  folded  satin:  the 
epaulette  is  composed  of  two  rows  of 
crescent-shaped  leaves:  worked  mus- 
lin ruffles,  and  muslin  chemisette,  with 
Spanish  vandyke  worked  collar,  fast- 

Vol,  II.  No.  IX. 


ened  in  front  with  a  gold  buckle.  The 
hair  parted  on  the  forehead,  and  in 
large  ringlets  on  each  side,  plaited, 
and  bows  of  ribbon  of  the  same  co- 
lour at  the  back  of  the  head.  Ear- 
rings and  necklace  of  amethysts.  Bon- 
net of  pink  crepe  lisse;  the  outside 
fluted,  and  edged  with  three  rows  of 
pearl  straw,  and  finished  with  blond 
lace:  round  crown,  confined  by  a 
band  of  French  folds,  and  decorated 
with  a  quadrangular  trimming,  edged 
with  pearl  straw  and  blond ;  one  point 
is  placed  in  front,  and  ears  of  corn, 
heath  and  convolvulus,  are  fancifully 
intermixed. 


EVENING    DRESS. 

Dress  of  lemon-colour  crepe  lisse  : 

the  corsage  made  to  fit  the  shape, 

and  ornamented  with  five  rouleaus  of 

satin  of  the  same  colour;  broad  cord- 

B  r> 


VKi 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS  ON    FASHION    AND   DRESS. 


ed  satiii  band  round  the  waist:  in 
front  are  seven  corded  rings  or  cir- 
clets, through  which  rise  seven  leaves, 
each  composed  of  several  small  folds 
of  satin,  and  terminated  with  a  folded 
satin  knot;  palmated  corded  bow  be- 
hind. Short  full  sleeve,  crossed  by  sa- 
tin French  bands  confined  by  knots 
into  squares,  and  having  bouffants  of 
folded  satin  round  the  centre  of  the 
sleeve,  which  is  finished  with  a  cord- 
ed satin  band,  edged  with  fine  blond 
lace,  the  same  as  the  tucker.  The 
skirt  is  decorated  with  a  satin  corded 
diamond  trimming,  each  diamond 
cut  across,  and  a  plaited  bouffant  in- 
troduced, concealing  the  division,  and 
fastening  the  corner  of  the  next  dia- 
mond: broad  satin  hem  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  skirt.  The  hair  is  in  full 
curls,  and  parted  in  front,  confined 
by  a  wreath  of  anemones  and  con- 
volvuluses, and  mixed  with  small 
white  marabouts  in  front  and  on  the 
right  side.  Necklace,  ear-rings,  and 
bracelets  of  turquoise  and  amber. 
Lace  scarf.  White  kid  gloves  and 
white  satin  shoes. 


GENERAL  OBSERVATIONS  ON  FASHION 
AND    DRESS. 

The  approach  of  autumn  has  ren- 
dered silk  pelisses  rather  more  gene- 
ral than  they  were  when  we  made 
our  last  report  of  the  monthly  chan- 
ges of  fashion.  We  have  observed 
more  than  one,  the  corsage  of  which 
had  the  back  and  even  the  sides  made 
full,  and  disposed  in  gathers,  which 
were  confined  by  a  broad  band  of 
the  same  material :  the  front  was  plain : 
the  sleeves,  rather  more  loose  than 
they  have  been  worn,  were  finished 
by  a  cuff'  composed  of  two  rows  of 
points,  irregularly  placed  and  turned 
upward:  the  epaulette  was  small, 
and  composed  of  a  cluster  of  points: 


round  falling  collar,  with  only  an 
edging  of  the  lining;  the  pelisse  was 
also  finished  in  the  same  manner  all 
round.  The  eeinture,  of  a  broad 
watered  ribbon  to  correspond,  fast- 
ened in  front  by  a  steel  buckle  cut  in 
stars. 

Leghorn  is  still  genteel  in  walking 
dress,  but  it  is  not  so  fashionable  as 
satin  and  gros  uVett.  One  of  the 
prettiest  walking  bonnets  we  have 
lately  seen,  is  composed  of  this  latter 
material,  of  the  colour  called  a  French 
white:  the  crown,  made  in  the  form 
of  a  rouleau,  is  fluted  lengthwise, 
but  in  a  bias  direction,  by  straw  plait ; 
the  brim,  of  a  moderate  size,  is  or- 
namented at  the  edge  by  lozenge 
puffs  of  gauze,  which  are  also  form- 
ed by  plait.  A  large  knot,  of  the 
same  material  as  the  bonnet,  edged 
with  plait,  and  fastened  by  an  agraffe 
of  straw,  is  disposed  in  front  of  the 
crown,  and  broad  figured  gros-aVHc 
strings  fasten  in  a  full  bow  under  the 
chin. 

White  net  or  muslin  mantles,  lined 
with  coloured  silk  or  satin,  and  either 
embroidered  or  trimmed  with  lace, 
seem  very  likely  to  supersede  the  pe- 
lisses of  the  same  materials,  which 
have  now  been  so  long  in  favour.  The 
form  of  these  mantles  is  similar  to  the 
one  given  in  the  Repository  for  May, 
but  they  are  not  quite  so  wide,  and 
have  a  falling  collar,  and  a  pelerine 
instead  of  a  hood :  the  pelerine  va- 
ries according  to  the  taste  of  the 
wearer;  some  ladies  have  a  large 
round  one,  others  have  a  small  one, 
rather  pointed  in  front;  they  are  worn 
also  in  the  shape  of  a  shell.  The 
collar  is  generally  rounded,  and  al- 
ways thrown  back  from  the  throat. 
Satin  is  more  in  estimation  than  gros 
d'ete,  or  any  other  kind  of  silk,  for  the 
lining  of  mantles. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


183 


Transparent  materials  begin  to  de- 
cline in  favour  for  carriage  bonnets; 
white  satin,  gros  (Tcte,  &c.  &c.  are 
now  much  more  used.  Feathers  are 
more  worn  than  flowers,  and  we  see 
many  ladies  adopt  the  French  fashion 
of  a  plume  of  feathers,  the  edges 
of  which  are  tipped  with  different 
colours;  as  for  instance,  green  and 
ponceau,  lilac  and  citron,  rose  and 
chesnut.  There  are  never  more  than 
two  different  colours  besides  that  of 
the  feather  itself  in  a  plume. 

A  new  dishabille,  well  adapted  to 
morning  visiting  dress,  has  just  made 
its  appearance:  it  is  of  jaconot  mus- 
lin, finished  round  the  bottom  by 
folds  of  clear  muslin,  confined  in 
compartments  by  blue  satin  cords, 
placed  perpendicularly,  and  tercni- 
nated  by  a  button.  This  trimming 
is  very  deep.  The  corsage  has  a  ful- 
ness of  clear  muslin  let  in  at  each 
side  of  the  bust  down  to  the*  centre 
of  the  waist,  in  the  drapery  style:  it 
is  corded  with  blue  satin  on  each 
side,  and  formed  to  the  shape  by  a 
blue  satin  agraffe  in  the  centre.  The 
space  in  the  middle  of  the  corsage  is 
richly  embroidered ;  the  back  is  full, 
and  the  shape  is  marked  by  a  slight 


embroidery  all  round.  The  dress 
fastens  behind;  there  is  no  collar, but 
a  lace  frill,  with  a  heading  drawn 
with  ribbon,  partially  conceals  the 
throat:  the  long  sleeve,  rather  wide, 
is  finished  at  the  wrist  by  a  triple 
easing  drawn  with  ribbon,  and  ter- 
minated by  a  fall  of  work.  Full 
epaulette,  interspersed  with  knots  of 
ribbon.  Blue  satin  sash,  fastened  in 
a  bow  and  ends  behind. 

The  materials  of  dinner  and  even- 
ing dress  have  not  varied  during 
some  time;  but  we  have  seen  a  style 
of  trimming  adopted  in  the  former 
which  is  novel,  and  has  a  neat  and 
even  elegant  effect:  it  consists  of 
folds  of  gauze  or  crepe  lisse  laid  on 
in  deep  bias  tucks  disposed  in  awave, 
each  wave  being  formed  by  an  agraffe 
of  satin,  generally  to  correspond: 
where  this  style  of  trimming  is  adopt- 
ed, the  bust  is  always  ornamented 
with  a  triple  row  of  tucks,  which  do 
not  go  across  the  shoulder,  but  are 
terminated  at  the  arm-hole :  the  epau- 
lette corresponds. 

Fashionable  colours  arc,  lavender 
colour,  azure,  pomona  -  green,  pon- 
ceau, jonquil,  different  shades  of 
rose  colour,  and  brown. 


FRENCH  FEM 

Paris,  August  18. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

The  materials  for  walking 
dress  at  present  are  various,  but  up- 
on the  whole  white  predominates. 
There  is,  however,  a  new  material 
called  moussellne  gaze,  which  is 
nearly  as  much  in  favour:  it  is  check- 
ered. The  gowns  composed  of  it 
are  usually  trimmed  with  narrow 
flounces:  these  are  nine  in  number, 
put  close  together ;  the  three  that  are 
placed  in  the  centre  are  white;  the 


VLE  FASHIONS. 

three  above  and  the  three  beneath 
are  of  the  colour  of  the  dress. 

White  gowns  for  the  promenade 
are  very  generally  of  the  blouse  kind ; 
the  robe-blouse  and  the  redingote- 
blouse  are  most  in  request  for  walk- 
ing: the  last  does  not  differ  from 
those  I  described  to  you  under  the 
same  name  last  season,  but  the  for- 
mer has  I  think  some  novelty  in  the 
make:  the  fulness  of  the  corsage  in 
front  is  disposed  in  folds  on  each  side 
of  the  bust;  there  is  also  less  fulness 
B  b  2 


184 


FRENCH    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


thrown  into  the  body,  and  the  tucks 
which  form  the  trimming  are  much 
deeper.  Satin  bands,  which  fasten 
behind  by  a  gold  or  steel  buckle, 
have  just  superseded  those  of  leather 
or  watered  ribbon.  Fichus  with  deep 
collars  are  now  generally  adopted  in- 
stead of  frills,  and  a  broad  satin  rib- 
bon tied  in  a  knot  in  front  forms  a 
cravat. 

Leghorn,  paille  de  rh,  gauze,  and 
crepe  lisse,  are  the  favourite  materi- 
als for  chapeaux,  which  are,  with  the 
exception  of  the  chapeau  a  la  ber- 
gere,  of  a  moderate  size,  and  of  the 
bonnet  shape :  they  are  very  little  or- 
namented at  the  edge  of  the  brim : 
the  crowns  still  continue  low.  Flow- 
ers are  in  favour,  particularly  dog- 
roses,  mignonette,  poppies,  and  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  wild  flowers.  Fea- 
thers are,  however,  upon  the  whole 
more  fashionable  than  flowers:  long 
and  short  ostrich  feathers  are  both  in 
request :  the  first  are  used  to  form 
panaches,  which  are  placed  on  one 
side  and  fall  low  on  the  other  shoul- 
der; the  others  are  disposed  in 
plumes  in  front  of  the  crown:  in  both 
instances  the  edge  of  the  feather  is 
of  a  different  colour  from  the  other 
part.  Gauze  ribbons  are  still  in  re- 
quest: they  arc  mostly  figured  or 
flowered ;  those  with  a  dark  brown, 
or  rather  mahogany-coloured  ground 
are  at  present  most  fashionable. 

Our  envelopes  are  now  of  rather 
a  warmer  description  than  when  I 
wrote  last;  in  fact,  the  uncommon 
coldness  of  the  weather  renders  lace 
shawls  and  pelerines  too  light  for  out- 
door coverings ;  the  cachemire  shawl 
is  consequently  most  generally  resort- 
ed to:  the  favourite  colours  for  the 
ground  of  these  shawl.-;  is  white, 
orange,  dark  cinnamon,  and  ponceau. 
On  the  few  warm  days  that  bav< 


peared  within  the  last  month,  our 
most  distinguished  elegantes  were 
seen  in  muslin  manteaux,  richly  em- 
broidered, and  lined  with  white  taf- 
feta. 

Muslin,  silk,  and  barege  are  equal- 
ly fashionable  in  dinner  dress :  if  the 
gown  is  composed  of  the  first  mate- 
rial, it  is  either  en  blouse,  or  profuse- 
ly trimmed  with  coques  of  muslin 
and  entre-deux  of  tulle.  The  body 
and  sleeves  are  ornamented  in  the 
same  style,  and  the  sash  is  frequently 
a  silk  scarf  with  a  deep  fringe  at  the 
ends;  this  is  folded  round  the  waist, 
and  forms  a  knot  on  one  side  of  the 
front:  the  ends  descend  consider- 
ably below  the  knee. 

Tulle  over  white  satin  is  much  in 
favour  in  full  dress.  Trimmings  are 
of  two  kinds.  The  first  consists  of 
rouleaus  of  satin,  from  five  to  six  in 
number:  every  rouleau  is  ornament- 
ed with  a  satin  knot  placed  on  one 
side  of  the  front;  these  knots  are  ar- 
ranged in  a  bias  direction:  the  other 
style  of  trimming  consists  of  fes- 
toons of  gauze,  which  shade  small 
bouquets  of  flowers. 

A  new  material,  and  one  likely  to 
be  very  fashionable,  has  just  appear- 
ed for  full-dress  gowns;  it  is  called 
gaze  de  Venus:  it  is  worn  in  cherry- 
red,  pale  rose  colour,  and  lilac :  these 
dresses  are  trimmed  with  bouillonne, 
intermixed  with  agraffes  and  other 
ornaments  of  white  satin. 

The  most  novel  ear-rings  are  of 
gold,  in  the  form  of  a  serpent  holding 
an  orange  in  his  mouth.  Bracelets 
and  necklaces  of  the  newest  mode 
have  clasps  of  gold  in  the  form  of 
hands  clasped  in  each  other.  Pearl 
mixed  with  dead  gold,  or  coloured 
stones  with  pearl,  are  at  present  much 
in  request  both  for  necklaces  and  for 
ornaments  for,  the  hair, 


\     \ 


^VOy*„ 


->  '        *  ,. 


FASHIONABLE   FURNITURE. — INTELLIGENCE,    &C. 


185 


Fashionable  colours  are,  reseda- 
green,  citron,  emerald-green,  carna- 
tion, lilac,  ponceau,   and    mahogany 


colour.     Adieu,  ma  chere  Sophie! 
Always  your 

Eudocia. 


FASHIONABLE    FURNITURE. 


A    STATE    BED. 


The  authors  who  have  written  on 
the  arrangement  of  furniture  in  olden 
times,  have  given  to  the  common  bed 
a  width  of  six  feet,  and  to  state  ones 
an  altitude  quite  unknown  to  the  pre- 
sent day,  except  as  we  see  it  exem- 
plified in  some  of  our  very  ancient 
mansions,  whose  chambers  exhibit 
the  four-post  bedstead  at  from  20  to 
SO  feet  in  height.  This  stateliness, 
or  rather  the  excess  of  it,  proved,  in 
later  times,  a  complete  bar  to  the 
occupation  of  these  sumptuous  dor- 
mitories, and  consequently  led  to  the 
introduction  of  more  compact  and  ac- 
cessible, if  not  more  graceful  and  im- 
posing, pieces  of  furniture. 

The  present  design  exhibits  a  mo- 
dern bedstead,  and  furniture  decorat- 
ed with  Gothic  ornaments,  and  with 
draperies  woven  to  assimilate  with 


them.  The  canopy  of  a  throne,  or 
rather  that  which  in  sumptuous  pro- 
cessions was  borne  over  the  chief  in 
honour,  was  the  precursor  of  the 
English  tester;  and  in  the  annexed 
engraving,  the  original  has  been  re- 
verted to  for  the  embellishments  of 
its  cornice,  and  the  draperies  sus- 
pended from  them;  and  the  coverlet 
and  the  head-draperies  are  after  the 
rich  tissues  and  tapestries  that  usu- 
ally accompanied  this  species  of  or- 
namental parade. 

The  recurrence  to  such  sources  for 
designs  of  furniture  for  buildings  in 
the  Gothic  style  is  to  be  desired,  be- 
cause they  afford  the  means  of  assi- 
milating them  to  such  edifices,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  practices  of  the 
times  which  they  are  intended  to  imi- 
tate. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  & 


c. 


A  romance  from  the  pen  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Maturin  is  expected  in  the  ensuing 
winter. 

Memoirs  of  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV. 
and  of  the  Regency,  extracted  from  the 
German  Correspondence  of  the  Duchess 
of  Orleans,  mother  of  the  Regent,  with  a 
Biographical  Notice  of  that  Princess,  and 
notes,  will  shortly  appear. 

In  a  few  days  will  he  published,  the 
second  livraison  of  the  French  Classics, 
comprising  Numa  Pompilius  by  Florian, 
with  notes  and  the  life  of  the  author,  in 
two  vols,  by  L.  T.  Ventouillac. 

Mr.  Sheldrake  has  issued  proposals  for 
publishing  by  subscription,  An  Inquiry 


into  the  Origin  and  Practice  of  Painting 
in  Oil,  to  ascertain  what  was  the  real  in- 
vention of  Van  Eyck,  and  what  were  the 
materials  and  vehicle  that  were  used  by 
Giorgione  and  the  first  artists  of  the  Ve- 
netian school:  to  which  will  be  added 
some  information  concerning  the  old 
painted  and  stained  glass ;  a  recipe  for 
preparing  drying  oil  of  superior  quality, 
known  to  the  author  alone,  and  an  at- 
tempt to  ascertain  some  colours  which 
were  used  by  the  old  painters,  but  are 
unknown  to  the  artists  of  the  present 
time. 

Nearly  ready  for   publication,  Hor<z 
Momenta  Cravcnce,  or  the  Craven  Dialect, 


180 


poi:tky, 


exemplified  in  two  dialogues  between 
Farmer  Giles  and  his  Neighbour  Bridget; 
to  which  is  annexed  a  copious  Glossary 
of  the  Dialect  of  Craven,  in  the  west 
riding  of  Yorkshire. 

A  new  work  is  about  to  be  commenced 
in  numbers,  with  the  title  of  The  Family 
Oracle  of  Health,  or  Magazine  of  Do- 
mestic  Economy,  Medicine,  and  Good- 
Living,  edited  by  A.  T.  Crell,  M.  D.  and 
W.M.Wallace/ Esq. 

A  new  edition  will  shortly  appear,  of 
the  Life  of  Dr.  James  beat  tie,  by  Sir  Win. 
Forbes,  in  two  volumes  8vo. 

A  few  weeks  since,  the  late  Mr.  War- 
ren's collection  of  prints,  consisting  chi  efly 
of  his  own  works  after  Stothard,  Fuseli, 
Smirke,  Wilkie,  Bird,  Westall,  Uwins, 
Thurston,  Corbould,  and  others,  toge- 
ther with  proofs  which  had  been  present- 
ed to  him  by  various  engravers  and  pub- 
lishers, was  brought  to  the  hammer  by 
Mr.  Sotheby.  Many  of  the  finest  proofs 
sold  high.  The  Heiress,  after  Smirke, 
was  knocked  down  for  21.  2s. ;  an  inferior 
impression  of  the  same  plate,  1  /.  1 8s. ;  The 
Murder  of  the  Innocents,  by  Bartolozzi, 
6/.  2s.  6d. ;  Vandyke  as  Paris,  by  Schia- 
vonetti,  21. ;  Duncan  Gray,  after  Wilkie, 
61.  10s.;  The  Demolition  of  the  China  Jar, 


after  the  same  artist,  4/.  J  0s.  Two  beau- 
tiful little  pictures  on  card  by  Stothard, 
Midsummer-Night's  Dream  and  Much 
Ado  about  Nothing,  painted  for  Kersley's 
Sliakspeare,  and  a  drawing  by  Uwins, 
Ophelia,  for  the  same  work,  fetched  very 
high  prices. 

Mr.  Milton,  of  the  Apiarian  Reposi- 
tory in  the  Strand,  has  lately  invented  a 
straw  hive  with  double  top,  on  which 
glasses  are  placed.  To  these  glasses  the 
bees  have  access,  and  there  they  deposit 
their  honey.  Not  only  is  an  opportunity 
thus  afforded  of  watching  their  labours, 
but  the  honey  so  obtained  is  of  the  finest 
quality,  perfectly  pure  and  free  from  the 
young  brood,  clear  in  colour,  and  far  su- 
perior to  any  produced  in  common  hives. 
I  It  may  also  be  taken  at  pleasure  without 
!  injury  to  the  bees,  and  especially  without 
i  being  obliged  to  resort  at  any  time  to  the 
I  process  of  smothering  these  industrious 
and  valuable  insects.  Those  who  are  in- 
terested in  this  invention  will  find  its 
uses  and  advantages  briefly  described  in 
the  London  Apiarian  Guide,  just  pub- 
lished by  Mr.  Milton,  who  has  there  fur- 
nished also  some  useful  practical  instruc- 
tions for  promoting  improvement  in  the 
cultivation  of  bees. 


ottrjn 


LINKS 
Written  in  a  Lady's  Album  above  a  Painting  of 
a  Jay's  Feather. 
What  is  fame,  or  what  is  glory  ? 
Both  like  feathers  fleet  away, 
And  if  paged  in  ample  story, 
Not  much  longer  in  their  stay. 

What  is  wealth  or  worldly  treasure  ? 

They  are  feathers  that  we  prize. 
What  is  life,  and  what  is  pleasure? 

Each  on  silent  wing  soon  flies. 

What  is  love,  or  youth,  or  beauty  ? 

What,  but  feathers  light  and  gay— 
Quickly  fading,  though  once  brilliant 

As  the  feather  of  the  jay. 
Ipswich.  A  I. 


To  H.  R.  on  the  Twentieth  Anniversary  of  her 
Birthday,  with  "  The  Wreath,"  a  Volume 
of  Poems. 

With  love  sincere,  and  wishes  bland, 

To  grace  your  natal  day, 
A  Wreath  accept  from  friendship's  hand, 

Whose  sweets  will  ne'er  decay. 

Not  cull'd  from  Flora's  gay  parterre, 
■    These  flowers  throughout  the  year 
Their  amaranthine  beauty  wear, 
And  bloom  still  bright  and  clear. 

Like  this  unfading  W'reath,  our  love, 
Dear  Hannah,  still  shall  last, 

And  each  succeeding  season  prove 
An  emblem  of  the  past. 

Ipswich.  A  I. 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  373,  Strand. 


THE 


Bepofittorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  §c. 


THE     TH1R 


SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


October  1,  1823. 


N°-  X. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 

1.  West  Front  of  Eaton-Hall,  the  Seat  of  Earl  Grosvenor 
$J.  East  or  Garden  Front  of  Eaton-Hall 

3.  Temple  at  Eaton 

4.  Ladies'  Morning  Dress      ...... 

5.  Ball  Dress 

6.  Muslin  Patterns. 

CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

.  187 
.  190 
.  191 
.  243 
.    ib. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Views   of  Country  Seats. — Eaton-Hall, 

the  Seat  of  Earl  Grosvenor  ....   187 
Third  Letter  from   Reginald  Filterbrain 

of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq.     Letter  IV.   192 
The  Confessions  of  a  Rambler.    No.  II.   194 
The  Castle  and  the  Farm,  or  the  Foster- 
Brothers :  A  Tale  (concluded)    .     .     .   198 
Report  of  Debates  in   the   French 
Female  Parliament. 

Chamber  of  Deputies 203 

Chamber  of  Peeresses 205 

A  Tour  round  my  Parlour  (continued)  .  207 
The  Fallen  Son  of  Switzerland  .  .  .  212 
Constantine   d'Isaure:   from  the  French 

of  Florian 217 

Gaelic  Relics.    No.  VII — The  Knights 

of  the  Holy  War 219 

The  Wife  of  a  Genius  (concluded)      .     .  225 
Verses  on  the  Death  of  Robert  Bloom- 
field,  the  Suffolk  Poet,  by  Bernard 
Barton       231 


PAGE 
Sketches  of  Tyrol  and  the  Tyrolese  ;  ex- 
tracted from  a   Letter  from  a  Gentle- 
man resident  in  Switzerland       .     .     .  234 

Anecdotes,  Sec.    Historical,    Literary, 
and   Personal. 

Melancholy  Mistakes 240 

The  Duchess  of  Berry  and  her  Children    ib. 

Buonaparte 211 

Louis  XV 242 

FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions.  —  Ladies'  Morning 
Dress 243 

Ball  Dress ib. 

General  Observations  on  Fashion  and 
Dress 244 

French  Female  Fashions        245 

INTELLIGENCE, 

LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC        .     .  24G 

POETRY. 

Ballad 248 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  373,  Strand. 


TO  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  arc  requested  to  transmit 
on  or  before  the  1 5th  of  the  month,  Announcements  of  Works  •which  they  may  have  on 
hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert  them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense. 
New  Musical  Publications  also,  if  a  copy  be  addressed  to  die  Publisher,  shall  be  duly 
noticed  in  our  Review ;  and  Extracts  from  new  Books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an 
interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our  Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

Our  Musical  Reviewer  claims  the  indulgence  of  our  Readers  for  the  omission  of 
his  usual  contribution  in  the  present  Number,  on  account  of  the  necessity  of  relaxation 
from  arduous  professional  duties. 

The  communications  of  the  Rev.  W.  B.  C.  East  Bergholt,  and  A  I.  reached  us 
after  the  present  Number  was  made  up :  they  shall  have  a  place  in  our  next  Publication. 


Persons  who  reside  abroad,  and  who  wish  to  be  supplied  with  this  Work  every  Month  as 
published,  may  have  it  sent  to  them,  free  of  Postage,  to  New-York,  Halifax,  Quebec,  and 
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Post-Office,  at  No.  22,  Sherborne-lane  ;  and  to  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  or  any  part  of  the 
East  Indies,  by  Mr.  Guy,  at  the  East-India  House.  The  money  to  be  paid  at  the  time  of 
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This  Work  may  also  be  had  of  3Tcssrs.  Auf.on  and  Krai*,  Rotterdam. 


< 


.1  & 


THE 


Beposttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 
Manufactures^  fyc. 


H     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


October  1,  1823. 


N°-X. 


VIEWS  OF  COUNTRY-SEATS. 

EATON-HALL,    THE   SEAT   OF    EARL   GROSVENOR. 


Eaton-Hall  is  situated  in  the 
hamlet  of  Eaton,  from  which  it  de- 
rives its  name,  and  is  about  three 
miles  distant  from  Chester.  The 
former  mansion,  which  occupied  the 
site  of  the  present  splendid  struc- 
ture, was  a  square  brick  edifice, 
built  by  Thomas  Grosvenor  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  IGth  century;  but 
little  of  this  building  was  preserved, 
with  the  exception  of  the  foundation 
and  the  vaulted  basement  story. 
This  domain  came  into  the  posses- 
sion of  the  Grosvenor  family  in  the 
reign  of  Henry  VI.  by  the  marriage 
of  Rawlin  or  Ralph  Grosvenor  to 
Joan  daughter  of  John  Eaton,  Esq. 
The  ancient  family  of  Grosvenors 
came  in  with  William  the  Conqueror, 
and  their  first  settlement  in  Cheshire 
was  at  OverLostack,  granted  by  Hugh 
Lupus  to  his  great  nephew,  Robert 

Vol.  IL  No.  X. 


le  Grosvenor;  after  which  the  family 
seat  was  at  Hulme :  but  the  founder  of 
this  noble  family  was  Gilbert  le  Gros- 
venor, a  nephew  of  the  Conqueror. 

In  approaching  the  grounds  there 
are  at  several  points  appropriate 
lodges,  that  convey  a  foretaste  of  the 
splendour  of  the  mansion  to  which 
they  appertain,  particularly  that  to 
the  west,  on  the  Wrexham  road, 
called  Belgrave  Lodge,  which  alone 
forms  a  fine  building,  in  perfect  keep- 
ing with,  and  after  the  style  of,  the 
mansion.  The  drive  direct  from  this 
lodge  is  up  a  line  avenue  of  luxuri- 
ant and  venerable  limes,  which,  from 
their  number,  form  a  triple  road  or 
avenue,  full  two  miles  in  length,  to 
the  mansion,  the  west  front  of  which 
is  the  subject  of  the  First  Plate  of 
our  present  Number. 

This    noble    and    truly  splendid 
C  c 


188 


EATON-HALL. 


mansion  is  entirely  the  creation  of 
the  present  earl  within  the  last  twenty 
years,  and  principally  under  the  di- 
rection of  the  late  Mr.  Porden,  who 
displayed  great  taste  in  his  selection 
of  parts  from  our  admired  ecclesias- 
tical edifices,  and  in  the  adaptationof 
them  into  a  whole  for  domestic  pur- 
poses. The  task,  though  difficult, 
has  been  executed  with  judgment; 
and  now  that  the  additions  made 
within  the  last  two  years,  from  the 
designs  and  under  the  sole  manage- 
ment of  Mr.  Benjamin  Gummow,  are 
completed,  it  must  be  allowed  to 
rank  as  one  of  the  first  mansions  in 
the  kingdom.  In  a  selection  of  this 
nature  consistency  was  scarcely  to 
be  expected,  particularly  as  every 
attention  has  been  paid  to  comfort, 
which  has  induced  the  architects  to 
avail  themselves  of  every  species  of 
Gothic  consistent  with  their  general 
plan :  still  there  is  perfect  harmony 
throughout  the  whole,  and  a  union 
of  parts,  which  is  rather  surprising, 
when  it  is  seen  that  the  productions 
of  the  age  of  Edward  III.  as  well  as 
that  of  the  Tudors,  have  been  made 
subservient  to  the  plan.  York  Min- 
ster has  been  a  principal  source,  as 
well  as  the  church  of  Newark-upon- 
Trent,  and  Henry  the  Seventh's  Cha- 
pel, Westminster  Abbey. 

The  entire  depth  of  the  west  front 
is  not  seen.  On  this  side  is  formed 
a  spacious  area,  over  which  is  raised 
in  the  centre  of  the  building,  as  shewn 
in  the  engraving,  a  handsome  vault- 
ed portico,  which  projects  boldly 
over  the  path  to  admit  carriages  to 
pass  under,  forming  a  delightful  ac- 
commodation on  leaving  the  carriage 
in  wet  weather.  A  spacious  flight 
of  steps  leads  to  the  Hall,  which  is 
rich  in  the  extreme,  partaking  of  the 
cnaradcr  of  the  exterior,  which  per- 


vades the  whole  of  the  interior,  em- 
bellished more  or  less  according  to 
the  purposes  of  the  respective  apart- 
ments. 

No  pains,  no  decorations  have  been 
spared  in  this  sumptuous  Entrance- 
Hall.  It  occupies  in  height  two  sto- 
ries ;  the  ceiling  is  vaulted,  and  de- 
corated with  the  Grosvenor  arms  and 
other  devices  in  the  knots  that  cover 
the  junction  of  the  ribs.  On  each 
of  the  sides  are  a  costly  marble  man- 
tel-piece, and  niches  beautifully  ca- 
nopied and  decorated  with  banners, 
containing  complete  suits  of  armour, 
so  arranged  as  if  actually  worn  by 
the  respective  owners.  The  speci- 
mens are  rare,  and  probably  have 
been  those  used  by  some  of  the 
Grosvenor  family,  as  the  heads  of 
it  were  engaged  in  most  of  the  wars 
in  the  chivalrous  ages.  The  walla 
are  decorated  with  historical  paint- 
ings. The  pavement  is  of  variegated 
marbles  in  Gothic  compartments,  and 
the  colours  are  richly  varied  from 
the  light  passing  through  the  stained 
windows,  which  contributes  to  give 
richness  to  a  splendid  screen  of  five 
arches  embellished  with  vases  at  the 
end  of  the  hall.  This  screen  sup- 
ports a  gallery,  under  which,  in  the 
centre,  is  the  entrance  to  the  saloon. 
Two  open  arches  to  the  right  and 
left  of  this  entrance  lead  to  the  Grand 
Staircase  and  the  State  Bed-Room. 
The  Grand  Staircase  is  richly  orna- 
mented wjth  niches,  canopied  in  the 
most  elaborate  manner,  as  well  as 
with  tracery  under  the  landings :  the 
ceiling  is  equally  light,  rich,  and  ele- 
gant: the  whole  lighted  with  a  dou- 
ble skylight  of  stained  glass.  The 
State  Bed  -  Room  is  fitted  up  to 
correspond  with  its  magnificent  fur- 
niture, being  adorned  with  painted 
window?,  tracery,  armorial  bearings 


EATON-HALL. 


189 


in  proper  colours,  and  a  ceiling  fi- 
nished in  the  most  tasteful  style. 

Returning  to  the  Saloon,  on  the 
throwing  open  of  the  superb  folding- 
doors,  the  senses  are  bewildered  by 
the  rich  display  of  colours  issuing 
from  three  lofty  painted  windows,  di- 
vided into  six  compartments,  con- 
taining the  portraits  of  AVilliam  the 
Conqueror,  the  Bishop  of  Bayeux, 
uncle  to  the  Conqueror,  Gilbert  le 
Grosvenor,  nephew  to  the  same  mon- 
arch, and  his  lady,  the  heiress  of 
the  house  of  Eaton,  and  Sir  Robert 
le  Grosvenor,  who  distinguished  him- 
self in  the  wars  of  Edward  III.  The 
whole  of  these  figures  are  executed 
in  the  finest  style  from  designs  by 
Tresham.  On  one  side  of  this  room 
is  a  superb  chimney-piece  of  statuary 
marble;  on  the  other  a  highly  em- 
bellished organ.  The  Saloon  is  a 
square  of  30  feet,  formed  into  an 
octagon  by  arches  thrown  across  the 
angles,  by  which  a  beautiful  form  is 
given  to  the  vaulted  ceiling;  from 
the  centre  is  suspended  a  superb 
chandelier.  This  beautiful  heraldic 
lustre,  which  contains  twelve  shields 
with  the  arms  of  the  most  distinguish- 
ed branches  of  the  Grosvenor  family 
from  the  Conquest,  is  the  work  of 
Mr.  Collins  of  the  Strand,  by  whom 
also  the  superb  painted  windows 
which  adorn  this  rich  Saloon  were 
executed. 

To  the  right  and  left  of  this  Sa- 
loon are  anti-rooms,  that  connect  it 
with  the  Drawing-Room  on  one  side, 
and  the  Dining-Room  on  the  other. 
These  apartments  are  highly  orna- 
mented, but  not  so  much  so  as  the 
rooms  just  described.  The  windows 
are  glazed  with  light  Mosaic  tracery, 
and  exhibit  the  portraits  of  the  six 
Earls  of  Chester,  who,  after  Hugh 
Lupus,  governed  Cheshire  as  a  coun- 


ty-palatine, till  Henry  III.  bestowed 
the  title  on  his  son  Edward,  since 
which  time  the  eldest  sons  of  the 
Kings  of  England  have  always  been 
Earls  of  Chester. 

The  Dining-Room  is  on  a  scale 
equally  grand  with  the  building;  it 
is  upwards  of  30  feet  wide   by  50 
long.    A  bow-window  adds  consider- 
ably to  the  width  of  the  room:  this 
window  is  composed  of  five  arched 
compartments,  the  centre  one  con- 
taining the  portrait  of  Hugh  Lupus : 
the  opening  of  this  window  is  about 
30  feet.     The  ceiling  is  extremely 
bold  and  beautifully  finished  in  tra- 
cery, which  embraces  the  arms  of  the 
family  in  proper  colours.     The  cen- 
tre pendent  is  beautifully  finished  in 
scroll-work,  from  which  is  suspended 
a  superb  chandelier.     Opposite  to 
the  entrance  is  an  arched  recess,  con- 
taining the  sideboard,  the  back  form- 
ed of  five  divisions  of  lookin<r-cdass. 
with    Gothic   tracery   to   unite   the 
whole,  forming  with  the  table  one 
piece  of  furniture.    On  each  side  are 
niches  canopied,  containing  beautiful 
statues,  by  Westmacott,  of  the  heir- 
esses Miss  Davis  and  Miss  Eaton, 
married  into  the  Grosvenor  family, 
with  their  lords.   On  each  side  of  the 
entrance   to   the    room   are  similar 
niches.     The  jambs  of  the  arched 
recess,  with  the  bow,  are  ornamented 
with  small  niches  canopied  in  a  rich 
style.     The  furniture  is  of  the  most 
splendid  kind,  and  the  mantel-piece 
richly  wrought,  on  each  side  of  which 
are  full-length  portraits,  by  Jackson, 
of  the  present  noble  earl  and  his  la- 
dy.    This  room  is  situated  towards 
the  north-east. 

The  Drawing-Room  is  situated  to 
the  south-east,  and  corresponds  in 
form  and  dimensions  with  the  Dining- 
Room.     With  the  exception   of  a 
C  c :  2 


190 


:aton-hall. 


large  bow-window  that  commands  a 
delightful  scene  across  the  grounds, 
all  the  windows  of  this  beautiful  room 
are  embellished  with  figures,  repre- 
senting the  ancestors  of  the  family, 
as  well  as  finely  finished  portraits  of 
the  present  earl  and  countess,  in  a 
sweet  brown  chiaro-oscuro,  the  whole 
of  which  is  the  work  of  Messrs.  Ba- 
chelor. The  ceiling  is  highly  orna- 
mented, and  contains  the  family  arms 
blazoned  in  proper  colours,  with  those 
of  Egerton  Earl  of  Wilton,  the  fa- 
ther of  the  present  Countess  Gros- 
venor.  The  fitting  up  of  this  room 
corresponds  with  that  of  the  Dining- 
lioom,  excepting  that  the  niches,  ca- 
nopies, and  ornaments  are  richer  in 
their  execution.  A  superb  chande- 
lier graces  the  centre,  and  the  man- 
tel-piece is  rich  in  the  extreme.  The 
pier  glass,  in  one  plate,  is  said  to  be 
the  finest  extant:  it  is  full  fourteen 
feet  across.  Several  fine  pictures  of 
the  old  masters  embellish  this  apart- 
ment. They  are  a  small  portion  of 
the  valuable  collection  belonging  to 
his  lordship's  gallery  in  town,  which 
with  the  greatest  liberality  is  exhi- 
bited to  the  public.  The  furniture 
is  as  rich  and  varied,  though  chaste, 
in  its  Gothic  ornaments,  as  imagina- 
tion can  well  devise.  Oak  beauti- 
fully carved,  with  gold  wreaths  en- 
twined, and  crimson  velvet,  form  the 
principal  display.  The  curtains  are 
disposed  in  a  most  striking  and  ele- 
gant manner:  the  draperies  are  of 
crimson  and  gold  satin,  with  deep 
gold  fringe  and  tassels.  The  vista 
from  the  south  window  in  this  room, 
across  the  anti-rooms  and  Saloon  to 
the  end  of  the  Dining-Room,  is  beau- 
tiful in  the  extreme.  With  the  addi- 
tions to  the  south,  a  vista  will  be  con- 
tinued through  the  entire  range  of 
(Apartments,   a  length  of  loO   feet, 


which,  for  beauty  and  extent,  Avill 
surpass  any  thing  of  the  kind  in  the  ■ 
kingdom.  The  countess's  Sitting- 
Room  is  an  apartment  of  singular 
beauty,  and  is  the  only  apartment  on 
this  floor  that  has  square-headed 
windows  and  a  flat  ceiling. 

The  Library  formed  but  a  small 
portion  of  this  grand  pile,  and  by  no 
means  adequate  to  the  fine  collection 
of  books  in  his  lordship's  possession, 
of  the  estimated  value  of  50,0001. 
This  deficiency,  the  fine  taste  of  the 
noble  owner,  ever  active  to  render 
Eaton  perfect,  has  corrected  by  build- 
ing a  magnificent  library,  extending 
to  the  south,  as  shewn  in  our  Second 
View,  it  being  the  commencement  of 
the  range  of  building  on  this  the  east 
side,  as  it  is  the  commencement  of 
the  line  in  the  First  View  on  the  west. 
It  is  a  magnificent  room,  both  in  size, 
form,  and  finishing,  to  say  nothing 
of  its  bold  but  chaste  pendent  ceil- 
ing. It  has  three  superb  windows, 
which,  with  its  elegant  and  character- 
istic tracery,  entirely  of  cast  iron,  were 
executed  from  models  in  wood  by  the 
iron-founders  in  Chester.  They  are 
grooved  on  both  sides  to  receive  the 
glass :  thus,  with  all  possible  lightness, 
possessing  strength,  and  presenting 
the  greatest  possible  space  for  the 
cheering  influence  of  the  sun.  This 
portion  of  the  building  forms  a  princi- 
pal feature  of  the  splendid  additions 
and  alterations  made  within  the  last 
two  years,  which  have  not  only  im- 
proved, but  materially  changed  the 
character  of  the  edifice,  insomuch  as 
to  entitle  it  to  the  appellation  of  Ea- 
ton Abbey,  as  it  is  now  generally  de- 
nominated. 

In  heightening  and  extending  the 
edifice,  every  expedient  has  been 
adopted  by  Mr.  Gummow,  the  archi- 
tect, to  give  that  varied  and  pictu- 


EATON-HALL. 


191 


resque  appearance  which  is  so  de- 
sirable, and  which  constitutes  the 
chief  beauty  in  this  style  of  architec- 
ture. 

The  basement  story,  the  full  ex- 
tent of  the  library,  forms  a  fine  apart- 
ment, that  is  converted  into  a  stew- 
ard's room:  the  grandeur  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  arch  are  very  striking, 
and  the  workmanship  is  exquisite. 

The  additions  to  the  north  are  ex- 
tensive, consisting  of  a  superb  state 
bed-room,  with  its  connected  dress- 
ing-rooms, and  every  possible  conve- 
nience for  attendants.  The  centre 
of  the  main  building  has  been  raised 
a  story,  and  formed  into  an  extensive 
suite  of  bed-rooms,  to  each  of  which 
is  attached  a  sitting-room,  besides  a 
dressing-room.  The  utmost  atten- 
tion has  been  paid  to  ventilating  and 
warming  the  various  apartments  with 
steam-flues. 

Our  Second  View  displays  the  en- 
tire East  or  Garden-Front.  The 
walls,  balustrades,  battlements,  and 
pinnacles  are  of  stone,  brought  part- 
ly from  the  forest  of  Delamere,  and 
partly  from  the  quarries  of  Frod- 
sham:  it  is  of  a  light  and  beautiful 
warm  colour,  which  harmonizes  with 
the  surrounding  scenery. 

The  flight  of  steps  leads  to  a  beau- 
tiful terrace,  360  feet  long,  laid  out  in 
gravel-walks  and  beds  of  flowers,  from 
which  a  second  flight  of  steps  ascends 
to  a  beautiful  vaulted  cloister,  occu- 
pying the  space  between  the  Draw- 
ing-Room and  Dining-Room,  and 
in  front  of  the  Saloon,  which  opens 
on  it.  This  affords  a  delightful  shel- 
tered walk  in  all  weathers,  and,  with 
the  terrace,  forms  one  of  the  most 
interesting  features  of  this  superb 
place. 

The  views  from  the  cloister  and 


terrace  are  varied  and  rich,  command- 
ing the  distant  hills  of  Cheshire  and 
Shropshire,  with  that  remarkable  hill 
in  the  middle  distance  bearing  aloft 
Beeston  Castle.  Afine  inlet  of  the  Dee, 
formed  by  the  present  carl,  winds 
beautifully  through  the  grounds,  and 
supplies  the  place  of  the  natural  ri- 
ver, which  lies  too  low  to  be  com- 
manded from  the  house.  The  home- 
scene,  over  the  pleasure-grounds,  is 
rich  and  luxuriant.  The  gardens, 
laid  out  with  great  taste  under  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Forrester,  the  groves, 
the  green-house,  and  a  delightful 
temple,  deserve  particular  notice.  The 
latter,  recently  erected  from  a  design 
by  Mr.  Gummow,  forms  indeed  an 
object  so  eminently  beautiful,  that  we 
have  been  induced  to  devote  a  third 
plate  to  the  view  of  it.  It  adds  con- 
siderably to  the  beauty  of  the  view 
from  the  east  front,  and  its  simpli- 
city and  elegance  admirably  accord 
with  its  situation.  It  contains  an  al- 
tar that  lay  buried  many  hundred 
years  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  of 
which  we  have  been  favoured  with 
the  following  account. 

This  Roman  altar  was  found  in 
March  1 821,  in  a  field  called  the  Dar- 
nels, in  Great  Broughton,  near  the 
junction  of  the  ancient  Roman  roads 
to  Mancunium  and  Mediolanum.  It 
was  discovered  in  a  bed  of  marl  in- 
termixed with  sand,  in  a  reclining  po- 
sition, detached  from  the  pedestal, 
which  was  a  square  stone,  each  side 
about  twenty  inches,  and  nearly  six 
inches  thick.  The  whole  was  cover- 
ed with  a  mass  of  rubbish,  principal- 
ly the  remains  of  hewn  stones,  pro- 
bably the  relics  of  a  building  in  which 
it  was  deposited.  The  field  on  all 
sides  is  surrounded  by  abundant 
springs  of  fine  water;  and  the  foun- 


192 


LETTERS   1'KOM    REGINALD    FfLTEttBlLAIK,    ESQ. 


tain  to  which  it  was  dedicated  pro- 
bably poured  forth  its  pellucid  trea- 
sures in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
spot  where  it  was  dug  up.  The  height 
of  the  altar  is  four  feet,  the  middle 
part  of  the  column  is  two  feet,  the 
base  and  capital  two  feet  three  inches ; 
the  thuribulum  is  near  an  inch  in 
depth.    The  inscription  upon  it  is, 

NYMPHIS    ET    EONTIBUS   LEG.  XX.VV. 

If  this  altar  was  erected  by  the  le- 
gion when  the  Romans  first  establish- 
ed a  colony  in  Chester,  it  is  1778 
years  old,  and  if  on  the  eve  of  their 
quitting  Britain,  1491  years  old. 

Several  altars  have  been  found  in 
Chester.  In  1655,  an  altar  dedicat- 
ed to  Jupiter  the  Thunderer,  by  the 
same  20th  legion,  was  discovered  in 
the  Foregate-street,  and  is  now  among 
the  Arundelian  marbles  at  Oxford. 
In  1 693,  one,  erected  by  Flavius  M ax- 
ioms of  the  20th  legion,  was  found 
in  Eastgate-street,  and  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  the  Rev.  C.  Prescot  of 
Stockport.  In  1779,  another  dedi- 
cated to  Esculapius  was  discovered, 


which  is  now  the  property  of  Sir  J. 
G.  Egerton,  Oulton  Park. 

The  park  in  general  is  flat,  but  the 
elevation  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try in  some  degree  makes  amends. 
Exclusively  of  the  views  to  the  east 
already  described,  those  to  the  south 
command  the  grounds  and  luxuriant 
meadows  of  Eaton,  with  the  village 
and  spire  of  Oldford  in  the  distance; 
while  to  the  west  the  mountains  of 
Wales,  with  Moell  van  Mah,  their 
mother  (as  the  name  implies),  rise 
above  the  woods  in  the  fore-ground. 
The  city  of  Chester  lies  to  the  north. 
The  walled  gardens  are  extensive 
and  in  excellent  order,  containing  a 
hot-house  and  pine-pits,  the  former 
260  feet  long,  and  the  latter  200. 
The  stables  are  admirably  arranged, 
surrounding  a  court  160  feet  by  100, 
decorated,  in  the  style  of  the  mansion, 
with  battlement  and  turrets,  but  not 
so  rich.  The  clock-tower  is  sup- 
ported with  flying  buttresses,  and  has 
a  pleasing  effect. 


LETTERS  FROM  REGINALD  FILTERBRAIN, 

Of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq. 
Letter  IV. 

**  Pray  you,  lock  hand  in  hand  ;  yourselves  in  order  set." 

Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

Tis  past  four  o'clock,  and  the  cock's  giving  warning 

To  all  whom  it  concerns  of  th'  approach  of  the  morning. 

I  have  just  left  a  scene  of  grotesque  in  perfection, 

A  ball  given  in  honour  of  Bribem's  election ; 

And  having,  I  see,  three  good  inches  of  taper, 

I'll  just  give  a  sketch  of  the  fete  upon  paper. 

These  eyes  never  saw  such  a  set  of  queer  dancers ; 

You'd  have  laugh'd  had  you  seen  how  they  murderd  the  Lancers. 

From  corner  to  side  the  two  Misses  Stout, 

The  brewer's  fat  daughters,  were  rolling  about; 

And,  though  pretty  well  cooper'd  in  stays  (I'm  unwilling 

To  quiz),  look'd  like  two  porter-barrels  quadrilling. 

Their  mamma,  Mrs.  Stout — oh  !  pray  do  not  mention  her ! 

And  her  husband — drest  out  like  an  old  Greenwich  pensioner: 


LETTERS   FROM    REGINALD    FILTKRBRAItf,    ESQ. 

His  coat  ('twas  so  nicknamed),  I'm  morally  certain, 
Hung  down  from  behind  rather  more  like  a  curtain  ; 
And,  oh !  the  huge  space  'twixt  his  wide-spreading  hips 
Nothing  else  than  a  curtain  I'm  sure  could  eclipse. 

In  a  white  muslin  dress,  very  scraggy  and  sallow, 
The  sole  child  of  a  long-retir'd  dealer  in  tallow, 
Miss  Dip,  with  her  head-dress  of  crimson,  the  fright ! 
Of  all  things  resembled  a  long  six  alight. 
The  drug-bruiser's  lady,  with  lungs  most  amazing, 
Like  her  husband's  own  mortar,  both  noisy  and  brazen, 
Talk'd  so  loud  and  incessant,  that  ev'ry  third  bar 
Of  the  music  was  lost  in  her  tongue's  stunning  jar. 
While  her  husband,  the  fop,  than  a  monkey  scarce  bigger, 
Stood  up,  without  knowing  one  jot  of  the  figure  : 
Out  of  place,  in  bad  time  too,  now  slow  and  now  faster, 
In  and  out  like  a  dog  in  high  hunt  for  his  master  : 
In  despite  of  all  which  he  admir'd  himself  vastly, 
And  grinn'd  like  the  clown  in  th'  arena  of  Astley. 

Country-dancing  commenced,  but,  oh !  language  is  faint 
When  attempting  the  humours  of  that  scene  to  paint : 
Such  bustling  and  jostling,  such  railing  and  gibing, 
The  confusion  and  noise — oh !  'tis  past  all  describing. 
It  was,  "Pray,  Captain  Sabretache,  set  to  Miss  Prim;" 
While  she,  in  return,  made  a  dead  set  at  him. 
"  Miss  Dip,  right  and  left." — "Oh!  dear  me!  what  a  blunder!" 
"  I  could  not  have  believ'd  it." — "  La!  ma'am,  'tis  no  wonder 
When  such  folks  as  these—." — "  Poussette,  my  dear  madam." 
"  La!  the  simpleton  don't  know  her  partner  from  Adam." — 
"  Cast  off  the  first  couple"  (and  they  were  a  pair 
Each  like  a  prize-ox  which  they  shew  at  a  fair). 
Cries  a  reefer,  "  Vast  heaving  there !  that's  a  good  soul,  do ; 
If  you  once  cast  them  off,  who  knows  where  they  may  roll  to  : 
They'll  drift  and  run  foul,  if  their  cables  they  slip; 
There's  not  sea-room  enough  for  an  eighty-gun  ship.' 

Brewer  Stout,  in  quadrilles  ne'er  attempting  to  prance, 
But  very  ferocious  in  a  country-dance, 
In  the  heat  of  the  conflict,  most  mul-d-propos, 
Popp'd  his  huge  camel  foot  on  an  alderman's  toe, 
Who  limp'd  off,  and  exclaim'd,  looking  ruefully  queer, 
"  Curse  your  hops,  sir !  I  wish  you'd  put  more  in  your  beer. 

Miss  Prim  had  a  disaster,  and  that  through  a  major 
Of  horse,  and  I'm  sure  'twas  enough  to  enrage  her: 
His  heels  coming  rudely  in  contact  with  hers, 
He  danc'd  off  with  a  huge  coil  of  flounce  on  his  spurs. 
It  appear'd  that  Miss  Prim  had  been  lying  in  wait 
Very  long  for  a  husband,  oft  changing  her  bait : 
So  I  thought,  as  I  saw  the  gay  flounces  entwine, 
"  She's  at  last  hook'd  a  fish,  and  is  giving  him  line." 


193 


194 


THE    CONFESSIONS   OF    A    KAMRLLIt. 


A  mishap  too  bcfel  poor  Lieutenant  O'Callaghan ; 

I  don't  think  in  a  hurry  he'll  be  at  a  hall  again : 

He  came,  while  in  dancing  manoeuvring  about, 

Dos-d-dos  rather  forte  with  Miss  Betty  Stout, 

Who  being  in  form  very  like  to  a  full  sack, 

He  bounded  away  like  a  ball  from  a  wool-sack, 

And  encounter'd  a  waiter,  who  pass'd  with  a  tray  full 

Of  knick-knacks  in  devices  most  varied  and  playful : 

Down  went  the  lieutenant,  the  waiter,  and  tray 

With  a  crash  most  terrific ;  at  full  length  they  lay 

Mid  a  loud  roar  of  laughter,  which  no  one  could  stifle. 

Pat  fell  with  his  head  in  a  large  bowl  of  trifle, 

Which  envelop'd  his  pate,  and  fell  down  on  his  shoulders 

As  he  rose,  to  th'  amusement  of  all  the  beholders, 

Who  greeted  him,  roaring  out,  "  Bravo !"  and  "  Well  done!" 

And  all  voted  him  like  my  Lord  Chancellor  Eltlon. 

Thus,  all  sugar  and  froth,  like  O' Garnish's  speeches, 

Pat  swore  by  the  needle  that  sew'd  Adam's  breeches, 

It  was  cruel  to  laugh,  for  to  him  'twas  no  play : 

"  Don't  you  see  my  misfortune  has  turn'd  my  head  gray  ?" 

But  my  taper  burns  dim,  so  I'll  shut  my  scrutoire, 
And  hasten  to  bed — my  dear  friend,  au  revoir  ! 

W.  II.  H. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  RAMBLER. 


No.  II. 


I  very  early  displayed  a  roving, 
unsettled  disposition,  which  has,  I 
believe,  been  the  cause  of  much  of 
the  evil  that  has  befallen  me  through 
life.  But  then  I  have  experienced 
pleasures  which  dull  mortals  cannot 
know,  and  shared  in  scenes,  of  which 
those  who  never  stir  from  the  smoke 
of  their  own  chimney-corner  can  have 
no  idea.  In  all  probability,  therefore, 
the  good  and  evil  is  pretty  nearly  ba- 
lanced ;  and  at  times  I  am  inclined  to 
think  the  former  has  predominated. 
In  youth  I  was  idle  and  dissipated, 
but  I  trust  never  vicious;  and  my 
dear  aunt,  when  chiding  me  for  a 
fault,  used  to  turn  to  Mrs.  Mayflow- 
er and  say,  "  Mrs.  Mary,  I  still  like 
him  better  than  those  children  who 
are  all  perfection ;  they  seem  so  un- 


natural. Now  the  dear  boy  has  faults 
enow,  heaven  knows ;  but  then  lie 
never  denies  them,  and  that  they 
say  is  the  surest  road  to  reformation." 
— "  What,  having  many  faults?"  in- 
quired the  old  domestic. —  "No,  no; 
I  mean  his  open  and  ingenuous- ac- 
knowledgment of  them,  which  not 
only  shews  that  he  commits  nothing 
of  which  he  is  ashamed,  but  is  the 
best  guarantee,  that  when  you  have 
once  convinced  him  that  he  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  any  action,  he  never 
will  commit  it." 

Ah,  my  dear  aunt!  how  could  I 
ever  afflict  you  by  my  ingratitude  and 
unkindness?  My  readers  will  scarcely 
think  that  my  very  first  ramble  was 
to  leave  this  kind  relative  on  a  quix- 
otic expedition,  for  which  I  ought  to 


THE   CONFESSIONS   OF   A   RAMBLER. 


195 


have  been  severely  punished,  instead 
of  being  received,  as  I  was  on  my  re- 
turn, with  kindness  and  forgiveness. 

When  I  had  attained  the  age  of 
twelve  years,  my  boyish  ardour  was 
excited  by  reading  the  naval  history 
of  my  country.  My  blood  seemed  to 
boil  in  my  veins  as  I  eagerly  ran 
over  the  pages  on  which  were  inscrib- 
ed the  heroic  actions  of  a  Drake,  a 
Boscawen,  a  Rodney,  and  other  of 
our  gallant  tars.  Nothing  else  would 
serve  me  but  I  too  would  be  a  sail- 
or; and  day  and  night  I  teased  my 
aunt  to  give  her  consent  that  I  should 
engage  in  this  honourable  and  peril- 
ous profession.  "  Think,  aunt,"  said 
I,  "  what  honour  I  may  acquire  in 
the  wars!,,  I  heard  my  schoolmaster 
say  the  other  day,  that  every  true 
Englishman  ought  to  take  up  arms 
to  defend  his  country  in  this  crisis; 
and  I  am  a  true  Englishman,  I'll  go 
to  sea,  and  help  to  drub  those  ras- 
cally Frenchmen  who  have  murder- 
ed their  king,  and  want  to  persuade 
the  English  to  murder  theirs."  It 
was  in  vain  my  aunt  pointed  out  to 
me  the  dangers  and  perils  of  the  pro- 
fession in  which  I  wished  to  embark, 
it  was  in  vain  she  prayed  and  entreat- 
ed; I  was  obstinate,  to  sea  I  would 
go;  and  at  last  she  commanded  me, 
as  I  valued  her  affection,  to  think  no 
more  of  it. 

This  was  a  command  with  which  I 
was  totally  unable  to  comply,  for  I 
could  think  of  nothing  else ;  and  as 
I  found  it  was  impossible  to  obtain 
the  consent  of  my  aunt,  I  determined 
to  go  without  it.  Accordingly,  one 
fine  morning  in  June  I  rose  early, 
dressed  myself  in  my  holiday  suit, 
put  in  my  pockets  all  the  money  I 
had,  which  amounted  to  three  shil- 
lings, and  set  off,  without  communi- 

Vol.  II.  No.  X. 


eating  my  intention  to  any  one,  for 
Yarmouth.     I  did  not  know  an  inch 
of   the  way  beyond   the  village  of 
Thorpe,  which  is  about  two  miles 
on  the  road  from  Norwich,  but   I 
trusted  to  fortune,  and  thought  no- 
thing of  consequences.     I   reached 
Norwich  without  any  accident:  here 
I  met  with  a  poor  beggar,  who  said 
he  had  been  wandering  in  the  streets 
all  night,  having  no  money  to  find 
him  a  bed.  I  gave  him  a  shilling,  and 
proceeded  on  my  road.  Havingpassed 
through  Thorpe,  I  met  a  labourer 
going  to  his  work,  and  inquired  the 
way  to  Yarmouth.  "  To  Yarmouth," 
quoth  the  man,  "  why  what  can  thee 
be  doing  a-going  to  Yarmouth,baw*?" 
— "  I  am  going  to  sea,"  was  the  re- 
ply.—" To  see  whoam?"— "  Why  I 
am  going  to  be  a  sailor  to  be  sure," 
said  I,  too  proud  of  my  intention  to 
think  of  concealing  it. — "  A  sailor ! 
Lord  help  thee,"  replied  the  man, 
"  you  are  a  wee  thing  to  think  of  be- 
ing a  sailor :  but  keep  the  turnpike, 
and  thee  cannot  miss  finding  Yar- 
mouth."    Having  given  me  this  ora- 
cular answer  to  my  inquiry,  he  went 
trudging  on,  and,  like  Cymon, "  whis- 
tled as  he  went  for  want  of  thought." 
I  knew  very  little  about  the  turnpike: 
however,  I  kept  in  the  straight  road 
without  turning  to  the  right  or  the 
left,  till  I  came  to  the  pleasant  little 
village  of  Blofield.     Here  I  began  to 
feel  both  tired  and  hungry,  and  I 
marched  boldly  into  the  first  public- 
house  I  came  to,  and  asked  for  some 
breakfast.     "  Can  you  pay  for  it?" 
said  a  surly-looking  man. — "  Pay  for 
it!  yes  to  be  sure,  or  I  should  not 

*  "  Baw"  and  "maw,"  or  "mawther," 
are  provincial  expressions  used  in  Nor- 
folk :  the  first  to  boys,  and  the  second  to 
girls. 

D    D 


196 


THE    CONFESSIONS    OF    A    11AMBLEU. 


have  come  here  to  get  it,"  replied  I. 
— "  Well  then,  sit  down:  wife  and  I 
are  going  to  breakfast,  and  you  may 
get  some  with  us."  I  accordingly 
sat  down,  and  ate  as  hearty  a  meal 
as  ever  I  did  in  my  life,  for  which  I 
was  charged  eighteen  pence.  This 
reduced  my  cash  to  sixpence;  hut  I 
thought  I  should  soon  reach  Yar- 
mouth, get  a  birth  on  hoard  a  ship, 
and  take  plenty  of  prize-money  from 
the  French :  the  slender  state  of  my 
finances,  therefore,  gave  me  no  un- 
easiness. I  proceeded,  sometimes 
asking  my  way,  till  I  got  to  Acle, where, 
with  the  characteristic  thoughtless- 
ness of  childhood,  I  spent  my  last  six- 
pence in  tarts,  half  of  which  I  gave 
to  a  boy  who  let  me  play  at  marbles 
with  him,  with  which  game  I  amused 
myself  for  some  time,  forgetting  Yar- 
mouth, the  ships,  and  every  thing 
else,  but  the  pleasure  arising  from 
winning  my  companion's  toys. 

Having  played  till  we  were  both 
well  tired,  I  recollected  at  last  that 
I  had  yet  twelve  miles  to  walk  before 
I  attained  the  goal  of  my  eager  wish- 
es. I  therefore  again  set  off,  but  I 
had  not  proceeded  far  before  the 
effects  of  my  over-exertion  began  to 
be  very  evident.  I  had  walked  about 
fifteen  miles;  and  this,  though  a  short 
journey  to  some  lads  of  my  age,  was 
a  very  long  one  for  me,  who  had  per- 
haps never  in  my  life  walked  five 
miles  at  a  time  before.  I  had  on  new 
shoes,  which  blistered  my  feet,  and 
the  day  was  very  hot.  I,  however, 
proceeded  manfully,  toiling  and  per- 
spiring at  every  pore,  till  I  had  ar- 
rived within  about  four  miles  of  Yar- 
mouth ;  I  then  found  it  impossible  to 
proceed  any  further.  My  first  im- 
pulse was  to  sit  down  and  cry;  but 
thinking  that  would  not  look  manly, 
I  turned  aside  into  a  plantation,  with 


a  design  to  climb  a  tree  and  sleep 
till  morning;  for  I  had  read  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  and  saw  no  reason  why 
I  could  not  get  a  good  night's  rest  in 
a  tree  as  well  as  that  adventurous 
mariner.  I  accordingly  selected  a 
fine  leafy  oak  for  my  nocturnal  abode, 
and  began  to  ascend,  but  fatigue  or 
clumsiness,  or  both  combined,  ren- 
dered me  incapable  of  reaching  the 
top ;  in  the  effort  I  fell,  sprained  my 
ancle  violently,  and  became  insensi- 
ble from  pain. 

The  days  are  gone  when  beauty  bright 
My  heart  chains  wove  j 

but  I  shall  never  forget  the  "  fairy 
form"  which  was  bending  over  me 
when  I  again  awoke  to  recollection. 
An  elderly  female,  dressed  like  an 
upper  domestic,  was  supporting  my 
head,  whilst  a  beautiful  girl,  seem- 
ingly not  older  than  myself,  was  bath- 
ing my  temples  with  some  aromatic 
vinegar,  which  she  dropped  from  a 
small  vinaigrette  upon  my  aching- 
brow.  I  asked  where  I  was :  the  el- 
der female  told  me  I  was  in  the 
grounds  of  Mr.  Stanhope;  that  they 
had  found  me  lying  insensible  at  the 
foot  of  the  tree,  and  that  the  bro- 
ther of  the  young  lady  was  gone  to 
the  house  to  procure  more  assistance. 
"  Oh !  I  can  walk,"  I  exclaimed ;  but 
on  attempting  to  rise,  I  found  I  was 
unable  to  stand,  and  again  sunk  on 
the  earth,  uttering  an  exclamation  of 
pain.  "  Dear  Jane,  he  is  much  hurt," 
addressing  the  domestic — "  Where 
is  your  pain?"  addressing  me — was 
then  uttered  by  the  sweetest  voice  I 
ever  heard. — "  I  am  on  my  road  to 
Yarmouth,  and  am  tired  and  faint," 
I  replied.  "  I  was  attempting  to  climb 
this  tree  to  rest  for  the  night,  and  fell 
— I  believe  I  have  broken  my  ancle." 
At  that  instant  a  gentleman  of  very 
prepossessing  appearance,  whom   I 


THE    CONFESSIONS    OF    A    RAMDEEK. 


197 


afterwards  found  to  be  Mr.  Stan- 
hope, came  up.  attended  by  two  ser- 
vant?, who  carried  an  easy  chair. 
"  O  my  dear  papa!"  exclaimed  the 
young  lady,  "  how  glad  I  am  you 
are  come  !  This  poor  boy  is  sadly 
hurt."  Mr.  Stanhope  approached, 
and  after  the  usual  questions  of  who 
I  was,  where  I  came  from,  where  I 
was  going,  &c.  I  replied  to  the  first 
inquiry,  that  my  name  was  Henry 
Mortimer,  and  to  the  others  as  I  had 
done  to  his  fair  daughter.  I,  how- 
ever, concealed  the  fact  that  I  had 
run  away  from  my  home,  which  my 
conscience  whispered  would  not  tend 
to  exalt  me  in  the  estimation  of  the 
person  whom  I  was  addressing. — 
"  Well,  my  lad,"  said  Mr.  Stanhope, 
"  we  must  see  what  can  be  done  for 
you,  and  then  I  must  inquire  further 
into  your  story."  By  his  directions 
I  was  placed  in  the  chair  and  carried 
to  the  house,  where  I  was  put  to 
bed,  and  my  ancle  dressed.  When 
left  to  myself,  reflection  came  to  my 
aid.  I  did  not  repent  of  my  inclina- 
tion to  go  to  sea,  but  I  thought  the 
accident  a  just  punishment  for  my  in- 
gratitude in  leaving  my  dear  aunt  to 
all  the  horrors  of  incertitude  and  sus- 
pense as  to  my  fate.  I  immediately 
rang  the  bell,  and  when  a  servant  | 
appeared,  requested  that  I  might  be  i 
allowed  to  speak  to  Mr.  Stanhope. 
That  gentleman  came,  and  to  him  I  | 
unfolded  my  "  eventful  history."  He 
applauded  my  spirit,  but  blamed  me 
for  disobeying  the  commands  of  my 
aunt,  to  whom  he  immediately  sent 
off  an  express,  informing  her  of  my 
safety.  I  remained  at  Hawthorn 
Vale  for  two  days,  when,  being  quite 


recovered,  except  a  little  lameness 
from  the  sprain,  my  kind  protector 
placed  me  in  his  gig,  and  himself 
drove  me  home  and  presented  me  to 
my  loved  relative. 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  truant,  my 
dear  madam,"  said  he,  "  but  you 
must  not  be  too  severe  upon  him. 
His  disobedience  arose  from  his  de- 
sire to  serve  his  country,  and  he  has 
suffered  both  in  body  and  mind;  there- 
fore you  must  forgive  him."  My  kind 
aunt  gave  me  a  cordial  embrace,  say- 
ing, "  I  do  forgive  him :  but,  Harry, 
if  you  would  not  break  your  old 
aunt's  heart,  do  not  leave  her  again." 
— "  Indeed,  indeed,  I  will  not,"  Ire- 
plied. — "  Aye,  but  if  you  were,  my 
lad,  I  would  gi'  thee  a  good  hiding," 
said  John,  "  and  that  would  just  put 
you  in  mind  of  not  putting  us  into 
all  this  here  bother  about  you  any 
more." — "  No,  no,  we  will  have  no 
flogging,"  said  my  aunt;  "  I  can  take 
my  boy's  word  that  he  will  not  dis- 
tress me  in  this  manner  again." 

This  occurrence  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  a  friendship  with  Mr.  Stan- 
hope, which  I  hope  will  terminate 
only  with  our  lives.  He  is  now  a 
fine  hearty  old  man  of  threescore ; 
his  beautiful  and  blooming  daughter 
is  a  lovely  and  respected  and  belov- 
ed wife;  and  his  grandchildren  are 
the  very  images  of  what  their  mother 
was  when  I  first  knew  her.  But, 
doubtless,  my  readers  will  think  I 
have  dwelt  long  enough  on  this  child- 
ish ramble,  and  I  will  here  close  the 
scene  till  I  come  to  speak  of  other 
and  more  important  incidents  in  the 
life  of  A  Rambler. 


Dn3 


198 


THE  CASTLE  AND  THE  FARM, 

Or.  tiik  Foster-Brothers  :  A  Tale. 


(Concluded 

The  supposed  death  of  her  daugh- 
ter had  nearly  reduced  Madame  de 
Volmar  to  the  grave;  they  found 
her  still  weak  and  languishing,  but 
the  sight  of  her  child  was  a  medicine 
of  sovereign  efficacy:  she  daily  grew 
better,  and  she  joined  so  earnestly 
with  her  husband  in  pressing  Fre- 
deric to  remain  a  little  time  with 
them,  that  he  had  not  power  to  re- 
sist their  entreaties.  De  Volmar, 
who  wished  exceedingly  to  reward 
the  deliverer  of  his  daughter,  sound- 
ed him  indirectly  about  his  family 
and  prospects.  Frederic  acknow- 
ledged that  he  was  of  humble  birth ; 
but  no  consideration  could  induce 
him  to  accept  an  estate  which  Vol- 
mar strove  to  force  upon  him.  He 
would  have  been  eternally  disgraced 
in  his  own  eyes  by  receiving  a  re- 
ward for  the  rescue  of  Adelaide. 
Ah !  thought  he,  when  the  viscount 
would  have  pressed  it  on  him,  there 
is  only  one  recompence  that  I  could 
accept,  and  that  I  must  never  hope 
to  obtain ! 

The  day  for  the  lieutenant's  de- 
parture was  fixed,  and  this  circum- 
stance betrayed  to  the  tender  Ade- 
laide the  situation  of  her  heart:  she 
strove  to  conceal  it  from  her  parents 
and  Frederic,  but  the  effort  cost  her 
a  great  deal.  The  day  before  Fre- 
deric was  to  leave  Marseilles,  De 
Volmar  entered  hastily  and  with  a 
countenance  full  of  trouble.  "  O 
my  dear,"  cried  he  to  his  lady,  "  our 
poor  friend  De  Blainmore !" — "  Good 
heaven !  what  has  happened  to  him  ?" 
— "  A  misfortune  of  the  most  dread- 
ful kind:  his  son,  the  Comte  de 
Beausejour,  whom  we  thought  tra- 


from  p.  154.) 

veiling  for  his  amusement,  has,  it 
seems,  connected  himself  with  a  gang 
of  sharpers:  he  has  been  taken  up 
upon  strong  suspicion  of  being  a 
coiner ;  a  quantity  of  base  money 
has  been  found  in  his  possession, 
and  most  probably  he  will  expiate 
upon  the  scaffold  the  crime  of  which 
he  has  been  guilty." 

"  No!"  cried  Frederic  vehemently, 
"  he  is  not,  he  cannot  be  guilty !" — 
"  How!  you  then  know  the  comte V 
— "  Know  him !  good  heavens,  he 
is  my  oldest  friend !  My  mother  was 
his  nurse,  and  his  father  has  been 
more  than  a  parent  to  me.  But 
where  is  he,  sir?  Let  me  fly  to  him!" 
— "  I  will  accompany  you  to  his  pri- 
son."— "  No,  I  must  first  see  him 
alone;"  and  hastily  taking  the  direc- 
tion, Frederic  darted  away  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning.  He  easily  ob- 
tained access  to  Charles,  who,  on 
seeing  him,  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  grief  and  anger,  "  Ah !  Fre- 
deric, you  are  then  come  to  triumph 
over  me!" — "  To  triumph!"  cried 
the  son  of  Maurice  in  a  tender  but 
broken  voice,  and  catching  the  comte 
in  his  arms,  he  burst  into  tears. 
Charles  would  have  avoided  his  em- 
brace, but  the  sight  of  his  grief  melt- 
ed the  proud  heart  of  De  Beausejour: 
he  returned  the  ardent  grasp  of  his 
foster-brother,  and  for  some  time 
their  tears  flowed  in  silence. 

The  comte  was  the  first  who  spoke. 
"  Frederic,"  said  he,  "  I  feel  and 
acknowledge  for  the  first  time  with- 
out envy  your  superiority  over  me. 
Thank  God  that  you  are  returned 
to  console  my  poor  father  for  my 
fate." — "  To  console!"  cried  Frederic 


THE   CASTLE    AND   THE    FARM. 


199 


in  a  voice' of  terror,  "  ah!  is  it  pos- 
sible?"— He  could  not  proceed,  but 
the  comte  understood  him. — "  Need 
I  say  to  you,"  cried  he  with  some  re- 
mains of  his  natural  haughtiness, 
"  that  I  am  not  guilty  of  the  crime 
with  which  I  am  charged  ?" — "  I  knew 
it!  I  was  sure  of  it!"  exclaimed  the 
overjoyed  Frederic. — "  But,  never- 
theless, I  shall  suffer  death." — "Im- 
possible!"— "  Hear  me,  and  you  will 
see  that  my  imprudence  has  left  me 
scarcely  the  chance  of  escape. 

"  Soon  after  your  departure  I  quit- 
ted the  chateau,  taking  with  me  a 
large  sum  belonging  to  my  father, 
and  without  any  thought  or  project 
for  the  future,  save  that  of  indulging 
in  the  riotous  pursuits  to  which  I 
was  devoted,  I  hastened  to  Paris; 
and  when  my  money  was  gone,  spee- 
dily obtained  more  from  usurers, 
who,  knowing  my  father's  advanced 
age,  did  not  scruple  to  supply  me  at 
exorbitant  interest.  I  soon  became 
connected  with  a  set  of  men  who 
lived  by  play:  one  among  them  ap- 
peared to  attach  himself  to  me  in  a 
particular  manner.  He  introduced 
me  to  a  woman  with  whom  he  lived ; 
she  was  beautiful,  and  depraved 
enough  to  meet  my  wishes  half  way. 
We  soon  entered  into  a  closer  ac- 
quaintance, and  some  months  passed 
without  her  paramour  having  any 
suspicion  of  our  intimacy.  During 
this  time  I  chanced  to  mention  to 
him  the  manner  in  which  I  raised 
money:  he  expressed  himself  indig- 
nant at  the  interest  I  paid  for  it,  and 
offered  to  supply  me  at  a  more  rea- 
sonable rate.  I  fatally  acceded  to  his 
proposal,  signed  a  bond  to  him,  and 
he  brought  me  a  considerable  sum 
in  gold;  at  the  same  time  telling  me 
that  himself  and  the  rest  of  the  knot 
were  going  to  make  a  trip  to  Mar- 


seilles, and  strongly  urging  me  to  be 
of  the  party.  I  consented ;  and  on 
tl  3  day  after  our  arrival,  while  I  sup- 
posed him  secure  at  the  gaming-ta- 
ble, I  paid  a  visit  to  his  mistress: 
he  entered  abruptly,  and  surprised 
us  in  a  situation  to  leave  no  doubt  of 
our  criminality.  He  aimed  a  blow 
at  me  with  a  dagger,  but  missed  me. 
I  seized  my  sword,  and  he  fled,  ex- 
claiming as  he  did  so,  '  I  will  have 
your  life  yet.'  The  wretched  woman, 
dreading,  as  she  said,  his  revenge, 
prepared  instantly  to  quit  Marseilles. 
That  very  evening  the  officers  of  jus- 
tice entered  my  apartment,  which 
they  searched,  and  found  more  than 
half  the  sum  I  had  in  my  possession 
was  base  coin.  It  was  in  vain  that  I 
protested  my  innocence,  I  had  no 
witness  to  the  transaction  between 
me  and  the  villain  who  has  abscond- 
ed. They  treated  the  story  of  the 
bond  as  a  fable :  my  other  associ- 
ates, who  have  also  been  taken  into 
custody,  obstinately  persist  in  deny- 
ing all  knowledge  of  the  manner  in 
which  their  companion  Vilmont  lent 
me  the  money.  Judge  then,  Frede- 
ric, whether  there  is  even  a  chance 
of  my  escaping  a  disgraceful  death." 
Frederic  would  not  acknowledge 
the  apprehensions  which  this  account 
excited.  He  strove  to  raise  the  hopes 
of  Charles,  and  when  he  had  a  little 
succeeded,  he  quitted  him  to  visit 
the  other  persons  who  had  been  ar- 
rested at  the  same  time ;  but  all  his 
efforts  to  extract  from  them  any  in- 
formation that  might  be  useful  to 
Charles  was  unavailing:  they  had 
been  arrested  merely  on  suspicion, 
but  nothing  was  found  on  them  to 
criminate  them,  and  they  were  too 
wary  to  say  a  word  that  could  in  any 
way  involve  themselves.  Poor  Fre- 
deric quitted  them  with  spirits  very 


200 


THE    CASTLi:    AND    Till",    1WIIM. 


much  depressed,  and  passed  the  night 
in  forming  vain  projects  to  prove  the 
innocence  of  his  foster-brother. 

The  morning  found  him  again 
in  Charles's  prison.  "  I  know  not 
how  it  is,"  cried  lie  to  the  comte, 
'•  but  something  tells  me  we  shall 
succeed,  though  as  yet  I  have  done 
nothing,  if  we  could  but  find  a  clue 
to  Viimont's  mistress." — "  That  is 
scarcely  possible,  since  no  doubt  she 
will  use  her  utmost  endeavours  to 
remain  concealed,  were  it  only  to 
avoid  his  fury." — "  Means  may  be 
found  to  trace  her  for  all  that,"  cried 
Frederic:  "  to-morrow  I  will  hasten 
to  Paris." — "  You,  Frederic !"--"  Yes, 
I;  and  doubt  not  that  I  shall  return 
with  good  news." 

A  messenger  now  arrived  to  sum- 
mon Frederic;  he  was  sent  for  by 
the  Vicomte  Volmar,  who  learned 
that  his  old  friend  De  Blainmore  was 
just  arrived  at  Marseilles.     Frederic 
hastened  with  him  to  the  marquis : 
their  presence  gave  a  moment's  joy 
to   the   unfortunate   father,  but   he 
soon  reverted  to  the  cause  of  his  an- 
guish.    "  Ah !   Frederic,"  cried  he, 
"  you  are  then  restored  to  me,  but 
it  is  only  to  see  me  expire  under  the 
disgrace  which  Charles  has  brought 
upon   my   name." — "    Have   better 
hopes,    my  lord :    Charles    is    inno- 
cent."— "   Innocent!"   repeated  the 
marquis  incredulously. — "  Yes,  my 
lord:  he  has  indulged  in  dissipation; 
he  has  been  misled;  but  I  repeat  to 
you,  he  is  innocent  of  the  crime  he 
is  accused  of.     Ah !    my  lord,   can 
you,   his   father,    really   believe   he 
would  perpetrate  so  base  an  action?" 
Frederic  now  repeated  to  the  mar- 
quis the  account  which  Charles  had 
given  him  of  the  affair.     De  Blain- 
more still  doubted:  Frederic  did  not 
cease  to  plead  with  the  greatest  ener- 


gy for  his  foster-brother.  "  Oh !" 
cried  the  marquis,  "  every  word  that 
you  say  makes  this  wretched  boy 
more  guilty  in  my  eyes.  When  I 
contrast  his  conduct  to  you  with 
yours  to  him,  how  can  I  think  him 
otherwise  than  a  monster?" 

"  Stop,  my  lord!"  cried  Frederic; 
"  I  would  spare  you  if  I  could,  but 
justice  to  the  unfortunate  comte  com- 
pels me  to  speak.  He  has  faults, 
but  are  you  sure  that  they  are  en- 
tirely his  own?  Have  you  had  no 
share  in  causing  the  evils  you  de- 
plore?" 

"  Young  man!"  interrupted  Vol- 
mar haughtily. — "  Let  him  go  on, 
my  friend,"  cried  the  marquis  in  a 
faint  voice.    "  Of  what  is  it,  Frederic, 
that  you  accuse  me?" — "  Of  suffer- 
ing your  judgment  to  be  blinded  by 
your  fondness  for  your  sou:  the  faults 
to  which  he  has  fallen  a  victim  early 
displayed  themselves,  but  were  they 
ever  checked?    O  my  lord,  forgive 
me!"  continued  he,  seeing  the  mar- 
quis's eyes  fill:    "  my  heart   drops 
blood  to  afflict  you  thus ;  but  I  should 
be  criminal  indeed  did  I  not  at  this 
moment  do  justice  to  Charles.  Alas! 
it  is  perhaps  the  ill-judged  fondness 
of  my  mother  that  has,  in  some  de- 
gree, occasioned  his  present  misfor- 
tunes.    Yes,  it  is  that  fatal  system 
of  indulgence  begun  at  the  farm,  and 
carried  on  at  the  castle,  which  has  fos- 
tered all  that  was  bad,  and  repressed 
whatever  was  excellent  in  his  natural 
disposition." 

Where  is  the  father  who  would 
not  rather  find  himself  in  fault  than 
his  son?  De  Blainmore  affectionately 
embraced  Frederic.  "  Good  young 
man,"  cried  he,  "  of  what  a  load 
have  you  lightened  my  heart!  Yes, 
I  will  trust  that  my  unfortunate  son 
i!  is  not  naturally  depraved,  ,?nd  that 


THE    C.'ASTLK    AND    THE    FARM. 


SOI 


I  shall  yet  see  him  amend  his  faults; 
this  will  be  at  least  a  consolation  un- 
der the  disgrace  with  which  his  con- 
duct has  for  ever  tarnished  the  ho- 
nour of  our  name.  Farewell,  my 
friend !  I  must  hasten  to  sec  and  con- 
sole this  unhappy  boy." 

The  interview  with  his  son  shook 
the  aged  frame  of  the  marquis,  but 
he  returned  from  it  with  a  firm  con- 
viction of  Charles's  innocence,  and 
a  well-grounded  hope  that  he  would 
become  all  that  his  friends  could 
wish.  He  saw  with  inexpressible 
pleasure  that  the  conduct  of  Fre- 
deric had  made  an  indelible  impres- 
sion on  the  mind  of  the  comte,  who 
freely  acknowledged  all  his  former 
baseness  to  the  son  of  Maurice,  and 
promised,  if  he  was  spared,  to  make 
him  ample  amends. 

Leaving  the  marquis  and  the  vi- 
comte  engaged  with  the  ablest  law- 
yers they  could  find  in  preparing 
the  defence  of  the  comte,  Frederic 
hastened  to  Paris,  accompanied  by 
Charles's  servant,  to  try  to  trace  the 
steps  of  Vilmont's  paramour.  They 
gave  information  to  the  police,  but 
several  days  elapsed,  and  no  tidings 
could  be  obtained  of  her.  One  night 
as  Frederic  was  returning  home  from 
a  visit  to  his  friend  M.  Robert,  he 
heard,  on  passing  through  a  bye- 
street,  a  loud  scream,  and  turning 
hastily  to  see  whence  the  sound  pro- 
ceeded, he  beheld  a  woman  sinking 
under  a  blow  from  a  ruffian.  Fre- 
deric darted  upon  the  villain,  while 
the  valet  raised  the  woman:  she  was 
wounded  in  the  side,  and  the  wound 
bled  profusely.  "  I  believe  I  am 
murdered,"  said  she  in  a  faint  voice. 
— "Heaven  forbid!"  cried  the  valet. 
"  Hold  the  rascal  fast,  Mr.  Frederic ; 
it  is  doubtless  he  of  whom  we  are  in 
search." 


It  was  indeed  the  miscreant  Vil- 
mont,  who,  having  as  he  supposed 
effectually  wreaked  his  vengeance 
upon  Charles  by  giving  information 
against  him  as  a  coiner,  proceeded 
to  Paris,  where  he  rightly  judged 
the  unfortunate  woman  had  sought 
to  conceal  herself.  An  adept  in 
every  species  of  fraud,  he  had  dis- 
guised himself  so  completely,  that 
he  defied  the  scrutiny  of  the  police, 
and  employed  himself  without  fear 
in  seeking  the  retreat  of  his  victim, 
who,  aware  of  his  sanguinary  tem- 
per, and  dreading  every  thing  from 
his  vengeance,  never  ventured  out 
but  at  night,  and  then  rarely.  Her 
precaution  did  not  avail;  he  traced 
her,  and  watched  with  determined 
perseverance  till  he  saw  her  come  out, 
muffled  up,  and  looking  round  her 
with  an  anxious  eye,  her  glance  fell 
upon  him,  and,  in  spite  of  his  dis- 
guise, she  knew  him,  and  screamed ; 
but  at  the  same  moment  she  received 
the  dagger  of  the  assassin  in  her 
side,  and  fell. 

Vilmont  was  seized  and  bound : 
the  wound  of  his  victim  was  mortal, 
but  she  lived  long  enough  to  sign  a 
deposition  that  completely  exonerated 
Charles  from  the  guilt  which  the 
miscreant  had  attached  to  him.  It 
appeared  that  Vilmont  was  himself 
a  fabricator  of  base  money,  which 
he  sold  to  the  sharpers,  his  compa- 
nions, at  a  low  price.  He  had  in- 
tended to  make  Charles  the  uncon- 
scious instrument  of  passing  a  large 
sum  in  this  false  coin,  but  the  grati- 
fication of  his  avarice  gave  way  to 
his  desire  of  revenge:  on  discovering 
the  intrigue  between  the  comte  and 
his  paramour,  he  privately  gave  in- 
formation against  him  as  a  coiner, 
and  then  absconded,  to  avoid  the 
j  consequences  to  himself;  first  warn- 


202 


THE   CASTLE   AND   THE   FARM. 


ing  his  companions  to  destroy  imme- 
diately all  the  base  money  they  had 
by  them,  which  they  did. 

Never  did  a  conqueror  make  a  tri- 
umphant entry  with  half  the  delight 
■which  Frederic  felt  in  returning  to 
Marseilles,  whither  the  officers  of 
justice  conveyed  Vilmont.  We  need 
not  detail  the  law  proceedings — suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that  the  villain  made 
a  full  confession,  and  received  the 
just  reward  of  his  crimes.  The  comte 
was  most  honourably  acquitted ;  and 
Frederic,  the  happy  Frederic,  was 
hailed  by  the  venerable  marquis  as 
the  preserver  of  his  son's  life  and 
the  saviour  of  his  house's  honour. 

The  family  of  De  Volmar  heartily 
participated  in  the  j  oy  of  their  friends ; 
but,  as  if  by  common  consent,  no 
mention  was  made  of  the  alliance 
once  proposed  between  Adelaide  and 
Charles.  The  marquis  felt,  that  un- 
der the  circumstances  it  would  be 
indelicate  to  bring  it  forward,  and 
Volmar  had  not  sufficient  confidence 
in  the  young  man's  reformation  to 
propose  it.  Impatient  to  make  the 
marchioness  a  sharer  in  his  joy,  De 
Blainmore  was  about  to  set  out  for 
his  chateau,  accompanied  by  Fre- 
deric, whom  he  declared  he  would 
part  with  no  more.  A  few  hours  be- 
fore the  time  fixed  upon  for  his  de- 
parture, he  received  an  express  from 
Madame  de  Blainmore:  he  was  con- 
versing with  De  Volmar  and  Charles 
when  the  letter  was  delivered  to  him ; 
on  opening  it  he  discovered  the  most 
violent  emotion.  "  No !"  exclaimed 
he  suddenly,  "  it  cannot  be !  I  should 
be   too   happy!    O  my  friend,   can 

you  conceive But,"  continued  he, 

checking  himself,  "  come  with  me,  I 
will  tell  you  all." 

Seizing  the  vicomte  by  the  arm,  he 
hurried  him  into  an  adjoining  room, 


where  they  remained  during  some 
time  shut  up  together.  At  last  the 
vicomte  returned  to  Charles  alone, 
and  from  his  looks  it  was  evident 
that  he  had  some  unpleasant  tidings 
to  communicate.  Charles  firmly  de- 
sired to  be  told  briefly  and  quickly 
what  had  occurred;  but  the  good 
heart  of  De  Volmar  made  him  try 
to  soften  as  much  as  he  could  the 
heavy  blow  that  was  about  to  fall  on 
this  unfortunate  young  man. 

The  marchioness  had  written  to 
her  lord,  that  Margaret,  whose  health 
had  been  declining  from  the  time 
that  Charles  quitted  the  chateau, 
now  finding  herself  at  the  point  of 
death,  acknowledged  that  she  had 
deceived  them,  and  substituted  her 
own  child  for  the  son  of  the  marquis. 
The  blindness  of  her  husband  af- 
forded her  an  opportunity  of  satis- 
fying her  guilty  ambition;  but  the 
success  of  her  crime  brought  with  it 
its  punishment :  incessantly  torment- 
ed by  the  fear  of  discovery,  dreading 
lest  the  Vicomte  de  Volmar  should 
betray  the  adventure  of  which  the 
real  De  Beausejour  still  carried  the 
mark,  the  mind  of  the  guilty  nurse 
was  always  a  prey  to  anxiety ;  and 
the  loss  of  that  son  whom  she  had 
loved  to  such  a  guilty  excess  brought 
upon  her  a  slow  wasting  malady, 
which  finally  deprived  her  of  life. 

It  was  with  the  tenderest  caution 
that  De  Volmar  revealed  the  unwel- 
come tidings  to  Charles,  or,  as  we 
must  now  call  him,  Frederic.  He  in- 
sisted so  strongly  upon  seeing  the 
letter  of  the  marchioness,  that  the 
vicomte  was  at  last  obliged,  though 
reluctantly,  to  give  it  to  him.  He 
made  but  one  observation  on  read- 
ing it,  and  that  in  a  voice  of  the 
deepest  emotion — "  I  have  murdered 
my  mother!" 


PUItiKCH    VKMAllk   I'AKLIAMIiNT. 


203 


These  words,  and  die  tone  in  which 
they  were  uttered,  spoke  volumes  in 
his  favour  to  the  heart  of  Volmar, 
who  soothed  him  with  the  tenderness 
of  a  father,  and  said  all  that  friend- 
ship could  suggest  to  reconcile  him 
to  himself.  The  marquis  in  the 
mean  time  had  gone  in  search  of 
Charles:  he  thought  he  heard  his 
voice  as  he  passed  the  door  of  an 
apartment  which  was  half  closed  ;  he 
pushed  it  gently  open,  and  beheld 
his  son  at  the  feet  of  Adelaide,  to 
whom  he  had  just  disclosed  his  pas- 
sion in  the  same  moment  that  he  was 
bidding  her  an  eternal  farewell.  The 
tears  which  flowed  from  the  eyes  of 
the  tender  Adelaide  were  quickly 
dried  by  the  tidings  which  the  happy 
marquis  communicated.  The  youth, 
overpowered  by  a  blessing  so  great 
and  so  unexpected,  could  hardly  cre- 
dit the  assurances  of  the  marquis 
that  he  was  really  his  father ;  and  it 
was  not  till  his  happiness  was  ratified 
by  the  Vicomte  Volmar  that  he  could 
seriously  persuade  himself  that  the 
dear  object  of  his  affection  was  in- 
deed his  own. 

When  their  first  delightful  emo- 
tions had  a  little  subsided  the  situa- 
tion of  Frederic  became  the  object 
of  their  thoughts.  Need  we  say, 
that  they  did  all  that  could  be  done 
to  reconcile  him  to  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  ?  They  saw  with 
pleasure  that  the  strongest  feeling  of 
his  mind  was  remorse  for  having  oc- 
casioned the  death  of  Margaret ;  and 
they  endeavoured    to    combat   this 


thought  by  representing  to  him  the 
duties  he  had  still  to  perform  to  his 
surviving  parent.  These  represen- 
tations roused  him:  he  vowed  to 
make  his  father  amends  for  all  the 
sufferings  he  had  occasioned;  and 
he  faithfully  kept  his  word.  The 
old  age  of  Maurice  might  indeed  be 
said  to  be  blessed  with  two  children; 
for  the  Comte  de  Beausejour,  who 
never  forgot  the  parental  tenderness 
of  Maurice,  always  behaved  to  him 
with  the  affection  of  a  son. 

The  party  speedily  set  out  for  the 
chateau,  where  Charles  and  his  in- 
tended bride  were  tenderly  welcomed 
by  the  marchioness.  Their  nuptials 
were  shortly  afterwards  celebrated, 
and  at  the  desire  of  his  bride  and 
his  parents,  Charles  quitted  the  navy 
to  settle  on  his  estate.  The  generous 
marquis  wished  to  bestow  upon  Fre- 
deric a  handsome  independence,  but 
he  resolutely  refused  to  accept  it. 
"  I  can  only  be  happy,"  said  he,  "  in 
returning  to  the  station  for  which 
nature  intended  me.  Occupied  with 
the  care  of  my  farm,  and  in  solacing 
the  old  age  of  my  father,  I  hope  to 
obliterate  by  my  future  conduct  all 
remembrance  of  the  criminal  exces- 
ses which  have  disgraced  my  youth." 
The  marquis  secretly  approved  his 
resolution.  From  that  time  the  days 
of  both  families  glided  on  in  peace 
and  happiness,  and  Charles  and  Fre- 
deric lived  to  see  their  children's 
children  perpetuate  the  union  of  the 
castle  and  the  farm. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  PARLIAMENT. 

petition  in  the  form  of  a  round  robin, 
signed  by  a  considerable  number  of 
French,  and  a  still  greater  of  Eng- 
lish ladies,  praying  that  tea  might  be 


CHAMBER   OF    DEPUTIES. 

July  25, 


The  sitting  was  opened  by  Ma- 
dame hi  Parvemse,  who  presented  a 
Vol.  II.  No.  X 


204 


FRENCH    FEMALE    PARLIAMENT. 


substituted  for  the  eau  sucree  that  was 
generally  handed  round  at  evening 
parties,  or  at  least  that  it  might  be  in- 
troduced at  the  same  time. 

Madame  V Ancienne-Mode  oppos- 
ed the  petition,  on  the  ground  that  it 
was  an  innovation  in  the  long-esta- 
blished customs  of  France,  and  was 
evidently  brought  forward  to  serve 
the  purposes  of  the  English  settlers 
in  this  country,  to  whom  already  too 
many  concessions  had  been  made. 

Madame  de  Belle-Taille  ascended 
the  tribune  and  spoke  as  follows : 

"  Well  as  I  am  acquainted  with 
the  illiberal  spirit  of  the  cote  droit, 
I  cannot  help  being  equally  shocked 
and  surprised  at  this  ill-timed  and 
impolitic  display  of  it.  What!  shall 
the  French,  renowned  alike  for  then- 
hospitality  and  politeness,  refuse  to 
recognise  the  right  common  to  all 
strangers  of  taking  that  sort  of  re- 
freshment which  they  prefer?  and 
shall  this  Chamber,  renowned  till  now 
for  the  wisdom  of  its  deliberations, 
compromise  its  reputation  by  refus- 
ing, through  a  blind  reverence  for 
the  usages  of  antiquity,  to  sanction 
the  introduction  of  a  beverage,  so 
calculated  to  reanimate  the  spirits 
after  the  fatigue  of  conversation  as 
tea,  merely  because  its  use  is  bor- 
rowed from  a  rival  nation?  No:  I 
trust  that  the  majority  of  the  mem- 
bers have  too  much  public  spirit  to 
lend  themselves  to  an  act  at  once  il- 
legal and  oppressive." 

Madame  de  Vieux-Chateau  could 
not  help  observing,  that  the  honour- 
able member  had  fallen  into  a  mistake, 
common  to  some  great  orators  of  her 
party;  that  is,  she  had  totally  lost 
sight  of  the  facts  of  the  case.  She 
asserted  that  the  Chamber  would  act 
illegally  in  not  decreeing  the  intro- 
duction of  tea,  when,  on  the  contra- 


ry, their  doing  so  would  be  a  mani- 
fest violation  of  the  constitution. — 
(Cries  of  "  Falsehood !  Slander !  We 
defy  you  to  prove  it,"  from  several 
members  of  the  cote  gauche,  many  of 
whom  continued  talking  at  once,  and 
with  such  vehemence,  that  Madame 
la  Presidente  was  obliged  to  interfere. 
During  the  continuance  of  the  up- 
roar, the  noble  member  took  snuff 
with  the  most  philosophic  composure, 
and  when  silence  was  at  length  re- 
stored, proceeded  as  follows): — "  I  am 
not  to  be  deterred  by  party  clamour 
from  exposing  that  system  of  trickery 
upon  which  the  cote  gauche  constant- 
ly acts:  it  is  well  known  that  the 
party  is  destitute  of  principle. "--(Loud 
cries  of  "  Order!")—"  I  beg  pardon,  I 
retract :  the  party  cannot  be  said  to  be 
destitute  of  principle,  for  they  have 
one,  that  of  never  telling  the  truth 
when  a  falsehood  will  answer  the  pur- 
pose better." — (Murmurs  of  indigna- 
tion.)— "  Nay,  here  is  a  proof  of  it. 
You  have  just  been  told  that  the 
Chamber  will  act  illegally  and  op- 
pressively in  not  granting  the  peti- 
tion now  befoi*e  it.  This  Chamber 
has  been  confessedly  established  to 
guard,  in  conjunction  with  that  of 
the  peeresses,  the  rights,  liberties, 
and  privileges  of  French  female  ci- 
tizens: now  what  sort  of  liberty 
should  we  enjoy  if  an  act  of  the  go- 
vernment obliged  us,  contrary  to  our 
own  wishes,  to  introduce  a  particular 
sort  of  beverage  into  our  houses? 
Such  a  measure  would  be  clearly  un- 
just and  unconstitutional.  I  move, 
therefore,  that  the  petition  be  reject- 
ed." 

Madame  Sens-  Commun  begged 
leave  to  dissent  from  the  opinion  of 
her  honourable  friend  who  spoke  last. 
That  Chamber  possessed  the  privi- 
lege of  dictating  in  all  matters  of  fa- 


FRENCH    FEMALE    PARLIAMENT., 


shion  and  taste ;  and  there  could  be 
no  doubt  that  cases  of  this  descrip- 
tion came  under  its  jurisdiction,  since 
refreshments,  like  every  thing  else, 
were  to  be  regulated  by  the  mode. 
But  though  she  considered  it  a  duty 
to  state  her  opinion,  that  the  Cham- 
ber had  a  right  to  decree  the  intro- 
duction of  tea  if  it  pleased,  she  should 
nevertheless  oppose  the  petition,  be- 
cause she  regarded  it  as  a  stratagem 
of  the  English  to  introduce  by  de- 
grees their  own  manners  and  customs. 
She  was  sorry  to  say,  that  they  had 
already  made  some  very  dangerous 
innovations.  People  began  to  ac- 
quire ideas  of  comfort  and  sm/gness. 
She  was  obliged  to  use  the  English 
words,  because  there  were  no  French 
terms  that  would  answer  to  them. 
She  had  heard  more  than  one  of  her 
acquaintance  talk  of  the  pleasure  of 
a  family-party ;  and  what  was  still 
worse,  it  had  actually  been  whisper- 
ed that  tete-a-tetcs  between  ladies 
and  their  husbands  were  becoming 
very  frequent.  She  hoped  and  trust- 
ed that  rumour  had  exaggerated  in 
this  latter  case,  but  nevertheless  it 
was  plain,  that  in  common  policy  we 
ought  to  be  cautious  of  giving  any 
encouragement  to  these  foreigners, 
since  in  reality  the  true  interests  of 
France  required  us  to  harass  them 
as  much  as  possible,  without  coming 
to  open  hostilities. 

Several  members  rose  at  this  in- 
stant to  mount  the  tribune :  Madame 
le  Temeraire  reached  it  first,  but  she 
was  so  much  out  of  breath  by  her 
exertions,  that  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore she  could  speak.  She  declaim- 
ed with  great  vehemence  against  the 
cowardly  spirit  in  which  the  last 
speech  was  made,  and  deprecated 
the  conduct  it  recommended  as  con- 
trary to  the  national  honour.     The 


institutions  of  France,  she  asserted, 
were  placed  by  the  female  charter 
upon  too  secure  a  basis  to  be  shaken 
by  any  attacks  from  abroad :  let 
Frenchwomen  be  but  true  to  them- 
selves, and  they  might  defy  alike  force 
and  fraud. — (Loud  acclamations  from 
different  parts  of  the  Chamber).— The 
honourable  member  concluded  a  most 
brilliant  speech  by  warmly  support- 
ing the  petition. 

Madame  Mediocre  said  that  the 
petition,  as  far  as  it  respected  the 
first  class  of  society,  was  absolutely 
needless,  for  tea  was  usually  given 
with  other  refreshments  at  a  late  hour 
of  the  evening. 

Madame  la  Parvemie  replied,  that 
it  was  true  tea  was  so  given,  but  the 
lateness  of  the  hour  rendered  it  im- 
possible for  ladies  to  take  it  without 
sacrificing  their  rest. 

Madame  Mediocre  and  several 
other  members  of  the  centre  argued 
that  it  was  of  no  consequence  at  what 
hour  the  refreshment  was  offered ;  it 
was  sufficient  for  the  credit  of  French 
hospitality -and  politeness  that  it  was 
offered  at  all. 

The  petition  was  then  put  to  a 
show  of  hands,  and  negatived,  in 
consequence  of  a  great  proportion  of 
the  centre  voting  with  the  cote  droit. 
The  sitting  closed  at  five  o'clock. 


CHAMBER    OF    PEERESSES. 

La  Baronne  de  Bonne-  Volontt 
rose  to  call  the  attention  of  the  Cham- 
ber to  the  situation  of  the  Spanish 
ladies.  "  I  have,"  said  the  noble 
orator,  "  silently  watched  the  pro- 
gress of  our  arms  in  that  country, 
and  now  that  the  war  is,  I  trust,  com- 
ing to  a  happy  conclusion,  now  that 
the  prowess  of  Frenchmen  is  about 
to  reseat  King  Ferdinand  on  his 
throne,  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  his 
E  e  2 


206 


FllENCU    FEMALE-  PARLIAMENT. 


privileges,  the  wisdom  of  Frenchwo- 
men ought  to  be  exerted  in  behalf  of 
their  sisters  of  Spain,  whose  liber- 
ties have  been  alike  injured  by  the 
monarchical  and  the  constitutional  go- 
vernments. I  need  not  particularize 
the  subjects  of  complaint  under  which 
Spanish-women  have  so  long  groan- 
ed ;  they  are  well  known  to  all  Eu- 
rope, and  have  been  long  deplored 
by  the  liberal  and  philanthropic  fe- 
males of  France,  who  wish  to  extend 
to  all  women  the  invaluable  blessings 
which  they  themselves  enjoy.  Till 
now,  however,  it  has  been  impossi- 
ble, without  committing  ourselves,  to 
take  any  steps  for  the  relief  of  our 
sisters  of  Spain,  but  the  moment  is 
arrived  in  which  we  have  the  power 
to  achieve  their  deliverance.  I  move, 
therefore,  that  this  Chamber  imme- 
diately take  into  consideration  the 
means  necessary  for  giving  to  the 
ladies  of  Spain  a  constitution  suitable 
to  their  principles  and  necessities; 
and  that,  as  the  first  step  to  be  taken, 
the  commands  of  this  Chamber  be 
issued  to  the  prince  generalissimo,  to 
convene  as  speedily  as  possible  a 
meeting  of  the  female  Cortes  of  the 
kingdom,  that  they  may  draw  up  a 
constitution  and  code  of  laws  suita- 
ble to  the  genius  of  the  Spanish  wo- 
men." 

Comtesse  le  Sage.  "  The  measure 
proposed  by  the  noble  haronne  is  one 
well  worthy  of  her  philanthropy ;  but 
I  must  observe,  with  all  due  defer- 
ence to  the  opinion  of  my  enlighten- 
ed and  illustrious  friend,  that  the  step 
would  be  at  this  moment  rather  pre- 
cipitate. The  affairs  of  Spain  are 
not  yet  decided;  but  it  is  perhaps  in 
the  power  of  Frenchwomen  to  de- 
cide them.  The  Spaniards,  as  the 
Chamber  well  knows,  have  disclaim- 
ed all  foreign  interference:  but  the 


Spaniards  are  a  nation  of  gallant 
men ;  though  they  may  be  inaccessi- 
ble to  the  weapons  of  man,  they  must 
yield  to  those  of  woman.  In  plain 
words,  the  mediation  of  that  Cham- 
ber might  effect  what  the  arms  of 
France  perhaps  could  not;  it  might 
induce  the  nation  to  liberate  the  king, 
and  in  conjunction  with  him,  to  give 
to  Spain  such  a  constitution  as  the 
wisdom  of  their  ladyships  might  dic- 
tate."— ("  Hear!  hear!"  from  several 
parts  of  the  Chamber.")  — "  I  move, 
therefore,  that  a  committee  of  this 
Chamber  be  immediately  appointed 
to  frame  a  code  of  laws  suitable  to 
the  genius  of  the  Spanish  people ; 
that  it  be  especially  distinguished  by 
its  brevity  and  simplicity,  not  con- 
taining, at  the  most,  above  four  hun- 
dred ninety-eight  thousand  five  hun- 
dred and  fifty  articles;  and  that  it 
be  modelled,  as  far  as  the  difference 
of  the  institutions  will  admit,  upon 
the  female  constitution  of  France; 
and  that  an  ambassador,  with  a  splen- 
did suite,  be  dispatched  forthwith  to 
Cadiz,  to  signify  to  the  king  and  the 
Cortes  the  intentions  of  this  Cham- 
ber, and  to  prepare  them  for  a  fa- 
vourable reception  of  the  constitu- 
tion." 

La  Comtesse  Trcs  -  Doucement 
thought  the  measure  a  bold  one,  and 
not  at  all  likely  to  be  successful.  She 
did  not  mean  to  detract  from  the 
gallantry  of  the  Spanish  nation;  on 
the  contrary,  she  considered  them 
to  a  man  likely  to  do  homage  at  the 
shrine  of  beauty :  but  she  doubted 
very  much  whether  they  had  such  a 
just  sense  of  female  supremacy  as 
would  induce  them  to  accept  a  con- 
stitution from  the  hands  of  women, 
especially  when  these  women  were 
foreigners. 

Vieomtesse  de  Ruse  observed,  that 


A    TOUR    HOUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


207 


means  might  be  found  to  obviate  that 
objection:  they  had  only  to  engage 
the  ladies  of  Spain  in  the  business; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  they 
would  readily  come  into  it  if  a  pro* 
spect  was  held  out  to  them  of  form- 
ing, upon  the  restoration  of  peace,  a 
constitution  of  their  own,  after  the 
example  of  the  ladies  of  France. 

La  Duchesse  de  Haute-  Voix  op- 
posed the  motion,  on  the  ground  that 
to  give  Spain  a  constitution  modelled 
after  that  most  admirable  institution, 
the  female  code  of  France,  would  be 
in  effect  to  render  her  too  powerful. 

La  Duchesse  de  la  Serupuleuse 
also  opposed  it,    in  the   belief  that 


France  had  a  prior  claim  upon  the 
wisdom  of  her  daughters,  who  might 
employ  themselves  more  for  her  in- 
terests in  remodelling  the  charter. 
This  last  objection  had  great  weight 
with  the  majority  of  the  members; 
and  after  a  long  debate  it  was  agreed, 
nem.  con.  that  all  consideration  of 
the  affairs  of  Spain  be  postponed  for 
the  present. 

La  Baronne  de  Bas-BIeu  gave  no- 
tice that  she  should,  at  the  next  sit- 
ting, bring  forward  a  plan  for  enabling 
such  ladies  as  were  desirous  of  turn- 
ing authors  to  compose  by  steam. 

The  Chamber  then  broke  up  at  six 
o'clock. 


A  TOUR  ROUND  MY  PARLOUR. 


By  3. 

(Continued 

Ovisn  the  couch,  in  a  darkish  cor- 
ner, is  quite  an  antique  in  its  way,  a 
sampler  worked  by  my  mother;  by 
her  who  watched  over  my  infant  steps 
with  anxious  care,  and  who  first 
taught  my  "  young  ideas  how  to 
shoot."  But  few  of  us  sufficiently 
know  how  much  we  owe  to  a  mother : 
more  than  is  generally  imagined  de- 
pends upon  the  infant  and  early  im- 
pressions received  from  maternal  in- 
struction; and  that  nation  ever  has 
been  and  ever  will  be  the  greatest 
and  the  wisest,  which  allows,  as  Eng- 
land and  the  modern  nations  of  En- 
rope  do,  their  women  to  take  a  pro- 
per and  equal  station  in  society.  But 
to  the  sampler.  And  let  it  be  re- 
collected, that  though  I  may  excite  a 
smile  by  my  description  of  it,  and 
though  modern  misses  may  turn  up 
their  scornful  but  pretty  noses  at  the 
idea  of  such  a  thing;  yet  do  I  feel  a 
sort  of  respect  for  this  venerable  and 


M.X. 

from  p.  148.) 

dingy  relic,  from  its  having  been  the 
handy  work  of  a  fond  mother.  It  was 
the  fashion  of  the  day  when  she  was 
a  child;  and  I  can  very  well  fancy 
her  pleasure,  and  that  of  her  parents, 
at  its  completion ;  together  with  the 
sending  of  it  to  be  framed  and  glazed ; 
the  receiving  it  back  in  the  then  hand- 
some black  and  gold  frame,  the  outer 
half  black,  and  the  inner  half  emboss- 
ed gold,  like  two  distinct  frames ;  and 
the  final  decision  of  the  hanging 
committee  as  to  the  best  light  and  si- 
tuation for  it  to  be  suspended  in. 
But  to  the  sampler,  as  I  said  before : 
I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  describe  it  to 
the  liking  of  the  ladies,  but  I  will  try 
nevertheless.  First  then,  there  is  a 
border  all  round,  meant,  I  presume, 
but  I  would  not  swear  it,  for  roses 
and  rose-leaves;  or,  upon  second 
thought,  for  honeysuckles,  or  perhaps 
for  clover-blossoms,  for  really  they 
would  almost  do  for  one  thing  as  well 


208 


A    TOUR    KOUXD    MY    TARLOUli. 


as  another.  Then,  just  under  the 
border  at  top  is  her  christian  name 
on  one  side,  and  her  sirname — no, 
I  don't  like  sirname  for  a  lady — her 
maiden  name,  good  reader,  if  you 
please,  on  the  other;  and  between 
the  two  is  the  date  1752;  all  being 
done  in  as  good  letters  and  figures  as 
generally  fall  to  the  lot  of  samplers. 
Then  there  is  the  alphabet  in  goodly 
rows,  though  if  one  did  not  know 
what  it  was  meant  for,  and  could  by 
any  chance  pick  up  one  of  the  letters, 
it  is  ten  to  one  if  it  was  guessed 
ariffht:  all  these  have  been  in  very 
gay  and  very  various  colours  former- 
ly, but  all-conquering  and  all-de- 
stroying Time  has  stolen  much  of 
this  sort  of  beauty  away.  Below  the 
alphabet  is  the  fifth  commandment; 
and  below  that,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
piece,  is  a  something  meant  for  a 
landscape :  in  the  middle  a  cottage 
of  yellow,  with  blue  windows,  a  red 
door,  and  a  green  roof;  at  least,  I 
take  it  these  were  the  original  colours, 
but  they  are  wonderfully  mellowed  by 
the  aforesaid  old  gentleman.  On  ei- 
ther side  of  the  house  is  a  figure, 
meant  no  doubt  for  human,  but  not 
partaking  much  of  the  "  human  form 
divine,"  and  whether  intended  for 
man,  woman,  or  child,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  determine ;  and  each  of  these 
is  accompanied  by  some  animal,  a 
tame  one  it  is  to  be  presumed,  but 
whether  cow  or  calf,  cat  or  dog,  is 
quite  undeterminable:  they  are  all 
red;  perhaps  the  other  colours  had 
been  exhausted  by  the  time  the  sam- 
pler was  so  far  finished,  which  may 
account  for  the  choice,  or  rather  the 
necessity,  of  so  flaming  a  colour. 
Lastly,  in  the  four  corners  of  the 
piece  are  stuck  four  large  flowers — 
roses  they  should  be  by  their  colour, 
but  so  square   and  so  formal,   and 


stuck  in  such  funny  little  red  pots, 
that  it  is  difficult  to  decide. 

So  much  for  the  sampler;  and  I 
hope  I  may  never  want  a  corner  for 
it,  any  more  than  for  its  neighbour, 
which  is  a  pictorial  specimen  of  nee- 
dle-work by  my  wife,  some  half  cen- 
tury more  modern,  and  worked  in 
silk.  This  is  certainly  a  much  more 
formidable  matter,  and  bespeaks  re- 
spect accordingly ;  for  it  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  no  less  a  personage  than 
Britannia.  She  is  standing  in  a  no- 
ble but  somewhat  stiff  position,  hold- 
ing an  olive-branch  in  one  hand,  and 
leaning  on  her  shield  with  the  other. 
On  one  side  of  her  is  a  little  naked 
boy,  who  has  always  puzzled  me 
vastly,  and  who  is  holding  the  stand- 
ard of  England  in  his  hand :  I  never 
heard  of  any  little  boy  that  Britan- 
nia had ;  and  if  it  is  intended  for  Cu- 
pid, which  it  very  possibly  may  be, 
then  I  am  as  much  puzzled  to  know 
what  he  does  there :  however,  there 
he  is,  and  a  very  mild,  pretty-looking 
child  I  assure  you.  Well  then,  in 
the  back-ground  there  is  a  ship,  and 
a  view  of  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's:  the 
first  indicative  doubtless  of  our  com- 
mercial prosperity;  and  the  latter, 
that  there  is  such  a  place  as  London 
I  suppose.  My  little  girl  is  at  pre- 
sent too  young  for  any  thing  of  this 
sort ;  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  soon  have 
something  of  hers  to  place  by  the 
side  of  the  two  others,  and  then  there 
will  be  three  generations  of  them  to- 
gether. 

Being  now  pretty  well  rested  by 
my  halt  at  the  sofa,  I  will  go  as  far 
as  the  side-board,  which  is  the  next 
thing  I  arrive  at,  and  is  both  usefid 
and  ornamental.  As  to  its  contents, 
there  is  Cape  and  sweet  wines  for 
the  ladies  and  the  children;  port  and 
sherry  for  "  children  of  a   larger 


A    TOUR    HOUND    MY    I'ARLOUK. 


209 


growth ;"  and  other  liquors  for  the 
ruder  .spirits  who  chance  to  call  at 
my  door :  then  here  are  sweet  cakes, 
and  huns  and  biscuits,  and  I  know 
not  what  besides.  In  its  smaller 
drawers  is  a  curious  collection  of 
corkscrews,  nutmeg  -  graters,  nut- 
crackers, spoons  of  all  sizes,  d'oyley's, 
and  other  useful  table  et-ceteras. 
Then  on  its  top  is  a  pretty  collection 
of  very  brittle  materials,  from  the 
liquor-glass  up  to  the  pint  goblet, 
and  from  the  small  dinner  decanter 
up  to  the  immense  magnum  of  a  wa- 
ter-bottle, which  stands  like  a  giant 
in  the  middle,  looking  down  upon  the 
rest. 

Over  these  are  my  book-shelves, 
holding  a  few  bound  volumes  for 
every-day  use,  whilst  the  majority  of 
my  books  repose  in  their  cases  up 
stairs.  Here  is  a  motley  group :  Sale's 
Koran  next  to  the  Bible  and  Com- 
mon Prayer;  old  Isaac  Walton  on 
Angling  next  to  something  of  Swift's, 
who  was  so  censorious  on  poor 
Isaac's  amusement,  as  to  describe  a 
fishing-rod  and  line  as  having  a  fool 
at  one  end  and  a  worm  at  the  other; 
the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments 
snuggling  up  to  Blair's  Sermons; 
Potter's  Greece  close  to  another 
greasy  subject,  the  Domestic  Cook- 
ery; Shakspeare's  Plays  cheek  by 
jowl  with  a  thing  of  yesterday,  a 
play  written  by  my  cousin  Tom  M — y , 
who,  like  many  others,  not  being 
pleased  with  the  conduct  of  mana- 
gers, determined  to  "  print  it  and 
shame  the  fools."  The  works  of  Gold- 
smith, the  wandering  flute-player,  but 
first  essayist  of  his  own  or  any  age, 
not  excepting  the  American  Irving 
and  his  host  of  imitators; — of  Pope, 
that  note-of-interrogation  man,  as 
somebody  ill-naturedly  called  him  in 
allusion  to  his  hump — what  will  not 


malice  and  envy  excite  in  the  human 
mind?  and  yet  Pope  was  but  too 
much  tinctured  with  these  feelings 
himself; — of  Dr.  Johnson,  the  dicta- 
torial, the  cynical,  but  I  believe  really 
honest  man — these,  with  an  Ency- 
clopedia of  Wit,  a  few  of  Byron's 
and  Moore's  Poems,  some  novels,  an 
odd  Spectator  or  two,  and  some 
tracts,  as  dull  and  fatiguing  as  some 
of  those  in  Egypt  and  the  deserts  of 
Arabia,  make  up  the  lot. 

Then,  above  the  book-shelves,  and 
towering  to  the  ceiling,  we  have  a 
large  drawing,  executed  by  the  afore- 
said cousin  of  mine.  It  is  coloured 
a  little  too  highly  perhaps  for  a  con- 
noisseur, but  half  the  world,  and  more 
than  half  are  very  indifferent  judges 
of  a  picture,  would  think  it  exceed- 
ingly handsome;  and  it  is  admired 
accordingly.  And  who  shall  dare  to 
say  that  in  this  my  tour  I  am  debar- 
red from  enjoying  the  prospect  of  a 
beautiful  country?  No  such  thing: 
the  drawing  I  am  speaking  of  is  the 
view  of  a  peaceful  vale,  in  that  de- 
lightful spot  for  a  summer  retreat,  the 
Isle  of  Wight.  I  recollect,  that  when 
it  was  first  given  to  me  in  the  year 
1810,  I  inscribed  some  friendly  lines 
on  the  back  of  it,  and  as  it  will  save 
me  some  description,  here  they  are : 

I  thank,  my  friend,  thy  pencil  and  thy  heart! 
The  scene  thou'st  traced  suits  well  a  poet's 
soul ; 
Its  brilliant  glow  and  soft  repose  impart 
A  pensive  charm,  a  charm  of  sweet  con- 
,    troul : 

For,  oh!    when  ev'ning's  tranquillizing  hour 
Sheds  o'er  a  scene   like  this  its  peaceful 
calm, 
How  sweet  it  is  to  own  the  soothing  pow'r, 
And  catch  the  cooling  zephyr's  cheering 
balm  ! 

,  How  oft  have  we  together  traced  a  scene, 
Like  this  in  beauty,  and  like  this  in  peace, 

'  And  found  the  pow'r  of  language  much   too 
mean 
To  tell  what  feelings  gave  our  joys   in- 

i  create! 


210 


A    TOUR    ROUND    MY    l'ARLOUK. 


At  such  an  hour  we  see  the  sun  decline, 

And  seek  the  west,  his  race  of  glory  o'er  j 
We  see  the  wood,  hill,  vale,  and  stream  com- 
bine, 
Deck'd  by  his  beams,  to  make  our  plea- 
sures more. 

We    hear   the   blackbird    hymn    his   vesper 
theme  j 
The  lark's  last  anthem  as  he   leaves  the 
skies ; 
The   shrill-toned   swallow,  as  he  skims   the 
stream  ; 
The  goldfinch  sweet,  with  plume  of  various 
dyes. 

There's  not  a  sound  but  has  its  beauties  now  ; 

The   ling'ring   flail,    the    mill's    revolving 

wheel, 

The  sheep-dog's  bark,  the  oxen's  distant  low, 

The  milk-maid's  song,  all  bid  our  bosoms 

feel. 

To  name  that  feeling,  to  pourtray  its  pow'r, 
Is  more  than  language  can  :  the  gladden'd 
eye 
And  ravish'd  ear  enjoy  the  halcyon  hour, 
While  words  are  lost  in  one  all-speaking 
sigh  ! 

But  when  the  busy  town  forbids  to  stra)r, 
Or  sickness  binds  us  to  the  house  of  care, 

Fancy  will  seek  this  pictur'd  scene  so  gay, 
And  almost  bid  reality  be  there. 

The  village  church  ;  the  rustics  at  its  gate  ; 
The  graceful  tree  that  shades  the  pool  be- 
low ; 
The  cottages  embower'd,  unknown  to  state; 
The   distant  hills   adorn'd  with  ev'oing's 
glow  : 

All  these,  asFancy  spreads  her  pow'rful  sway, 
Will  give  the  throbbing  breast  a  gleam  of 
peace; 
Will  dress  the  face  with  smiles,  bid  man  be 

And    sooth   regret's    deep    sigh    with    soft 
release : 

For  even  now  I  feel  her  influence  kind 

And  sweet,   though  sad   is  ev'ry  thrilling 
thought: 
She  pictures  days  to  come  upon  the  mind; 
With   seeming   prescience    each    idea's 
fraught: 

For  thus  she  whispers  :   When   the  hand  of 
death 
Shall  snatch   the  pencil  from   thy   friend 
away  ; 
When  thou  too  hast  resign'd  thy  borrow'd 
breath, 
And  both   have  sought  eternity's  bright 
day; 


Then  haply  may  some  kindred  eye  bestow 
On  this  depicted  scene  a  tear  of  praise  ; 

May  mourn  the  hand  that  gave  the  mimic 
glow, 
And  bless  the  humble  poet  for  his  lays. 

Standing  upon  the  top  of  the  book- 
shelves, leaning  against  the  picture- 
frame,  and  looking  a  good  deal  like  a 
masonic  emblem,  is  a  triangular  crib- 
bage-board.  This,  like  my  mother's 
sampler,  is  chiefly  valuable  to  me  as 
having  belonged  to  my  father:  on 
this  board  he  taught  me  the  value  of 
sequences,  prials,  fifteen-two's,  &c. 
&c.  Well  do  I  remember  his  first 
attempt  to  teach  me  when  a  boy,  and 
the  utter  confusion  and  conglomera- 
tion of  ideas  that  I  felt  in  endeavour- 
ing to  comprehend  the  game,  and  my 
at  last  saying  to  him,  "  Father,  it  is 
of  no  use,  I  shall  never  understand 
it."  But  he  persevered ;  and,  like 
all  other  boyish  difficulties,  I  soon 
got  over  this.  It  was  one  of  his  cus- 
toms to  sit  up  on  Christmas-eve  and 
the  last  night  of  the  old  year,  to  hear 
the  bells  ring  Christmas  and  the  new 
year  in  ;  and  many  a  heavy  job  have 
I  had  to  keep  my  eyes  open,  while 
accompanying  him  in  the  invariable 
game  of  cribbage  played  on  these  oc- 
casions. Some  wise  ones  will  per- 
haps exclaim,  "  And  what  has  the 
world  to  do  with  all  this  nonsense !" 
Truly,  not  much ;  but  I  should  hope 
there  is  scarcely  a  being  so  callous 
in  his  feelings,  as  not  to  have  some 
kind  remembrances  awakened  of  a 
parent's  goodness,  even  by  reading 
my  trivial  remarks,  much  less  if 
chance  throws  in  his  way  something 
which  had  belonged  to  that  parent. 
I  am  not  ashamed  to  say,  that  such 
incidents  recall  to  my  mind  thoughts 
and  feelings  that  I  would  not  part 
with  for  the  world's  wealth.  I  never 
even  meet  with  an  old  epistle,  the 


A    TOUR   ROUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


ill 


writer  of  which  is  dead,  that  I  am 
not  ready  to  exclaim  : 

**  For  years  this  letter  unperus'd  hath  lain  ! 
The  lapse  of  time  is  great!  and  yet  it  seems, 
By  recollection's  pow'r,  but  yesterday 
When  all  it  speaks  of   happen'd.     In   that 

time 
The  hand  which  penn'd  it  has  been  numb'd 

by  deatl) ; 
The  spirit  that  dictated  it  has  fled, 
And   now  looks  back  on  all  the  hopes  and 

fears 
That  fill  its  page  as  veriest  trifles.     Yet 
With  trifles  such  as  these  men  fill  up  life." 

Again  let  me  proceed,  and  finish 
one  half  of  my  journey  by  reaching 
the  corner  of  the  room  just  beyond 
the  sideboard.  Here  hangs  an  ex- 
quisite engraving  in  the  line  manner; 
French  I  believe,  but  by  whom  done  1 
know  not.  It  is  called  Marie  de  Ro- 
han, and  is  the  semblance  of  a  most 
beautiful  woman,  fancifully  dressed  as 
a  shepherdess,  and  having  a  crook  in 
her  hand :  it  is  a  half-length  or  rather 
more.  I  picked  it  up  some  years  ago 
at  a  sale  with  several  others  for  a  mere 
trifle, '  and  was  so  struck  with  its 
beauty  and  fine  finish,  that  I  would 
not  suffer  it  to  slumber  with  the  rest 
in  the  portfolio,  but  honoured  it  with 
a  gold  frame.  Beneath  it  stands, 
what  I  suppose  is  to  be  one  small  por- 
tion of  Sir  Ashley  Cooper's  immor- 
tality, though  he  has  other  and  bet- 
ter claims  to  such  a  fate — I  mean  a 
Cooper  s  chair  for  children  to  sit  in, 
and  certainly  an  excellent  thing  to 
keep  them  upright.  I  suppose  Sir 
A.  was  the  inventor  of  these  things, 
judging  by  the  name  given  to  them;  j 
and  I  certainly  do  think  the  public 
should  be  peculiarly  grateful  to  me- 
dical men,  who  quit  as  it  were  their 
direct  path  of  duty  to  diverge  into 
the  mechanical  arts,  as  they  often 
have  done,  to  invent  and  improve 
such  articles  as  will  give  ease  and 

Vol.  II.  No.  X. 


comfort  in  various  ways  to  poor  hu- 
man nature. 

On  turning  this  corner  of  my  room, 
I  find  another  door,  and  leading  in- 
to a  closet  of  such  depth  and  dimen- 
sions, as  make  it  worth  about  half 
the  rent  of  a  small  modern  house,  in 
which  closets  are  but  seldom  thought 
of.  As  to  its  contents,  they  are  al- 
most too  various  for  delineation : 
there  is  a  row  of  pegs  down  each 
side,  on  which  are  hung  hats,  bon- 
nets, great-coats,  cloaks,  &c.  without 
end;  and  amongst  them  I  see  is  my 
fishing-jacket.  Fustian  friend  of  mine, 
many  is  the  pleasant  trip  we  have  had 
together;  many  a  breezy  morn  has 
welcomed  us  to  the  river's  side ;  often, 
with  thee  on  my  back,  have  I  exclaim- 
ed, as  the  sun  first  peep'd  forth  in  all 
his  beauty : 

"  These  are  thy  glorious  works,  parent  of 

good ! 
Almighty,  thine  this  universal  frame, 
Thus  woud'rous  fair!  thyself  how  wond'rous 

then!" 
Here  too  are  my  rods  and  linen,  my 
basket,  landing-net,  fishing-stool,  and 
all  the  other  paraphernalia  of  this 
destructive  and  inhuman  art,  as  some 
would-be  feeling  people  call  it.  I  ve- 
ry well  remember  an  officer,  who  had 
been  in  most  of  the  battles  in  the 
Peninsula,  and  who,  like  Sampson, 
had  slain  his  thousands  or  there- 
abouts, telling  me  that  he  could  not 
bear  to  impale  a  worm,  as  he  called 
it,  or  to  drag  a  fish  from  its  native 
element  upon  a  hook.  This  was  some- 
thing like  the  old  story  of  the  senti- 
mental butcher.  But  to  quit  the  clo- 
set and  my  story  together,  I  will  re- 
mark that  over  the  door  is  hung,  and 
principally  because  it  is  rather  a  dark 
part  of  the  room,  an  engraving  of  the 
Death  of  Chattcrton.  It  is  a  me- 
lancholy  subject,  and  treated  in  a 

F    F 


212 


THE  FALLKN  SON  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


way  rather  to  increase  than  diminish 
the   sensation.     It  is  very  well  en- 
graved by  Edward  Orme,   from   a 
painting  by  H.  Singleton,  and  was 
published  in  1794:  it  is  dedicated  to 
the  Marquis  of  Lansdown,  as  Orme's 
first  attempt.     Poor   Chatterton  is 
stretched  on  a  miserable  straw  bed, 
in  a  more  miserable  garret;  he  is 
half  undressed,  and  lying  partly  on 
and  partly  off1  the  bed.     The  horri- 
ble agonies  of  coming  death  by  poi- 
son are  visible   in  his  countenance, 
and   the   wretched   coverlid   is  fast 
clenched  in  his  hand.    A  box  is  open 
near  him,  from  which  appear  to  have 
been  thrown  on  the  floor  some  books 
and   letters,  and  with  them  lies  an 
empty  phial,  indicative  of  the  deed 
he  has  done.    The  other  furniture  of 
the  room  consists  but  of  one  broken 
chair,  and  a  paltry  deal   table,  on 
which  are  placed  some  writing  mate- 
rials.    The  whitewash  of  the  wall  is 
broken,  and  the  bare  bricks  seen  in 
several  places ;  against  it  is  hung  his 
three-cornered   hat,  the  fashion  of 
his  day;  a  paper  is  introduced,  on 
which  is  inscribed  the  name  of  his  na- 
tive place,  "  Bristol ;"  and  against  the 
casement,  by  way  of  curtain  to  keep 
out  the  light  and  wind,  is  hung  his 
coat.     The  poor  woman  with  whom 
he  lodged  is  just  in  the  act  of  open- 
ing the  door  and  entering,  apparently 
to  light  his  fire,  from  the  appearance 


of  sticks  in  her  apron,  and  upon  see- 
ing the  awful  situation  of  Chatterton 
is  drawing  back  in  horror  and  affright. 
But  the  best  of  the  whole  is  a  chubby 
little  girl  who  is  holding  by  her  mo- 
ther's apron,  and  shrinking  partly 
behind  her,  with  a  half-alarmed,  but 
curious  and  inquiring  countenance. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  plate  are  these 
very  applicable  lines,  quoted  from 
Cowley : 

"  Behold  him,  Muses,  sec  your  fav'rite  son, 
The  prey  of  want  ere  manhood  is  begun  ! 
The  bosom  ye  have  fill'd  with  anguish  torn, 
The  mind  ye  eherish'd  drooping  and  forlorn." 

Such  was  the  fate  of  this  extraordi- 
nary young  man,  whose  genius  was 
acknowledged  on  all  hands,  and 
whose  Rowleian  MSS.  set  half  the 
literary  world  of  the  day  in  which  he 
lived  together  by  the  ears ;  but  it  is 
believed  that,  like  too  many  of  the 
sons  of  genius,  his  extravagance  and 
high  notions,  and  the  neglect  of  ad- 
vantages which  might  have  been  his, 
led  eventually  to  the  violent  catas- 
trophe which  robbed  the  world  of 
one  who  would  in  all  probability  for 
many  years  have  been  numbered 
with  its  brightest  ornaments,  and 
which  hurried  him  into  the  presence 
of  his  Maker,  with  perhaps  too  ma- 
ny errors  unrcpented  of.  Peace,  how- 
ever, to  his  manes/ 

(  To  be  concluded  in  our  next.) 


THE  FALLEN  SON  OF  SWITZERLAND*. 

I  love  a  tale  of  tears — 

Told  specially  at  eventide 

I  love  it: 

For  its  enchantment  ever  breathes  o'er  me 

Like  distant  bells  upon  a  summer's  eve, 

Stealing  away  earth's  grossness 

By  their  most  simple  ravishment.  Old  Play. 


I  was  born  in  Switzerland  in  the 
canton  of  Uri.  My  parents  inha- 
bited a  small  village  at  the  foot  of 


St.  Gothard,  one  of  the  loftiest 
mountains  in  Europe.  Its  situation 
was  most  romantic :  above  rose  stu- 


*  From  the  Manchester  Iris,  a  well-conducted  weekly  literary  journal,  lately  established 
in  the  town  whose  name  it  bears. 


THE    FALLEN    SON    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


213 


pendous  crags  covered  with  eternal 
snow,  seeming  as  it  were  to  form  an 
imperceptible  union  with  the  white 
fleecy  clouds,  sometimes  throwing  a 
dazzling  glimmer  through  the  gloomy 
mists  that  rolled  over  them.  The 
barren  surface  presented  no  species 
of  vegetation,  save  a  kind  of  moss 
and  short  grass,  and  a  little  stunted 
furze,  which  served  for  food  for  the 
chamois,  almost  the  only  animal 
which  nature  exhibited.  Our  hum- 
ble hamlet  was  situated  at  its  base, 
so  that  it  was  protected  from  the 
heavy  and  frequent  snow-drifts,  and 
from  the  excessive  cold  and  boister- 
ous wind.  Sheep  and  goats,  together 
with  a  few  cows,  were  all  our  riches : 
yet  we  were  in  want  of  nothing; 
they  supplied  us  with  food  and  cloth- 
ing, and  our  chief  occupation  was  to 
provide  for  their  sustenance.  Each 
day  brought  its  accustomed  and  con- 
stant employment,  and  each  setting 
sun  beheld  us  happy  and  content. 
My  father  was  now  old;  his  head 
was  honoured  with  hoary  locks,  and 
his  brow  with  the  furrows  of  vene- 
rable age :  his  chief  delight  was  to 
watch  the  innocent  gambols  of  his 
grandchildren,  in  which  he  would 
frequently  engage,  or  in  beholding 
his  two  sons  (myself  and  an  elder 
brother)  prosecuting  our  labour.  To 
us  would  he  recount  the  acts  of  his 
ancestors,  the  first  inhabitants  of  the 
valley:  whenever  he  touched  upon 
these  topics  his  countenance  assumed 
a  sudden  glow,  and  patriotism  ap- 
peared in  every  aged  feature:  he 
spoke  feelingly,  and  made  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  our  youthful  hearts. 
Many  were  the  songs  and  traditions 
which  he  repeated,  handed  down 
from  father  to  son  for  a  long  series 
of  generations. 
•There  is  one  in  particular,  which, 


though  I  could  disregard,  I  shall 
never  forget ;  and  even  now,  while 
I  repeat  it,  the  recollections  of  for- 
mer days,  the  remembrance  of  my 
boyhood,  and  the  image  of  my  de- 
parted sire  as  he  sat  and  sung,  all 
crowd  into  my  imagination,  and  fill 
my  soul  with  indescribable  emotions. 

Sons  of  freedom,  wake  to  glory, 

Draw  the  blade  in  freedom's  cause, 
For  your  sires  and  grandsires  hoary, 

For  your  liberty  and  laws! 
See  the  drooping  bride  is  clinging, 

Like  the  ivy  to  the  tree, 
And  her  arms  is  round  you  flinging ; 

Look  on  this — and  dare  be  free  ! 

Spirit  of  departed  Tell, 

Hear  within  thy  hallow'd  grave! 
Shades  of  those  that  with  thee  fell, 

Rise  and  bid  your  sons  be  brave. 
If  the  foemen  at  a  distance 

Threaten  blood  and  sword  and  fire, 
May  they  meet  a  stout  resistance, 

May  they  meet  aSwitzer's  ire! 

In  the  same  village  lived  a  young 
man,  the  son  of  the  chief  or  patri- 
arch of  our  little  state.  While  chil- 
dren we  were  intimate  friends ;  but 
as  we  grew  older  we  became  rivals 
and  bitter  enemies  to  each  other. 
We  both  placed  our  affections  on 
the  same  lovely  object,  and  jealousy 
soon  ripened  into  deadly  hatred. 

One  evening  whilst  returning  from 
a  visit  to  the  fair  Lisette,  I  met  with 
Thierri  (that  was  the  young  man's 
name) :  high  words  passed  between 
us,  and  a  quarrel  (for  love  is  none 
of  the  coolest  passions)  soon  ensued ; 
we  fought,  and  he  fell.  In  vain  I 
endeavoured  to  raise  him  from  the 
ground,  and  to  convey  him  to  the 
village.  "  William,"  said  he,  with 
his  hand  pressed  upon  his  side,  en- 
deavouring ineffectually  to  stop  the 
gush  of  blood,  "  your  kindness  is 
useless,  for  death  is  upon  me;  leave 
me  to  my  fate ;  fly  and  save  yourself." 
My  attentions  were  indeed  unneces- 
F  F  2 


214 


THE    FALLEN    SON    OF   SWITZERLAND. 


sary,  for  he  had  scarcely  said  fare- 
well, when  he  sunk  back  into  my 
arms  and  expired. 

How  to  act  I  knew  not ;  my  de- 
struction appeared  inevitable ;  besides 
the  disgrace  and  infamy  I  should 
bring  upon  our  hitherto  spotless 
house.  I  was  utterly  ignorant  in 
what  coarse  to  direct  my  flight,  un- 
acquainted with  the  route  to  any 
foreign  country,  without  money,  and 
without  a  friend.  No  time,  however, 
was  to  be  lost ;  I  set  oft'  immediately, 
and  passing  through  the  canton  of 
Berne,  soon  gained  the  French  fron- 
tier. As  I  was  wandering  onward, 
weary  and  exhausted  with  my  jour- 
ney, I  perceived  a  trocfp  of  horse 
approaching :  I  cast  a  wistful  glance 
towards  them,  and  could  not  help 
reflecting  on  my  own  unfortunate 
condition ;  worn  out  with  hunger  and 
fatigue,  and  covered  with  dust,  while 
they  were  careless,  happy,  well  mount- 
ed, heedless,  and  without  anxiety  for 
the  morrow.  I  saw  that  they  ob- 
served me,  and  this  affected  me  the 
more :  two  of  the  officers  whispered 
together  for  some  time,  and  one  rid- 
ing up  to  me  addressed  me  in  my  na- 
tive Swiss.  Rejoiced  at  this  unex- 
pected circumstance,  my  face  bright- 
ened up  immediately,  and  I  answered 
several  of  his  inquiries.  He  informed 
me  that  he  and  his  men  belonged  to 
a  regiment  in  the  French  service, 
and  that  my  person  had  attracted 
their  notice;  and  he  asked  if  I  was 
willing  to  go  with  them.  After  a  lit- 
tle discourse  I  consented,  and  was 
soon  initiated  into  the  tactics  and  du- 
ties of  a  soldier's  life.  Without  va- 
nity I  may  say  that  I  possessed  a  to- 
lerably fine  appearance,  just  in  the 
prime  of  life,  tall  and  well  propor- 
tioned; bred  up  in  a  wild  and  barren 
country,  I  was  enabled  to  endure  the 


fatigues  of  war.  Being  of  the  same 
nation  as  my  commander,  I  obtained 
first  his  good  opinion,  and  then  a  con- 
siderable share  of  his  favour  and 
confidence.  By  his  interest  and  ex- 
ertions I  was  promoted  in  a  short 
time  from  the  ranks ;  and  in  a  few 
years,  after  having  served  in  many 
battles,  I  had  the  honour  of  being 
entrusted  with  a  pair  of  colours. 

Rocqnuer  and  I  were  the  warmest 
friends ;  and  the  acquaintance  of  such 
a  man,  the  gaiety  of  a  military  life, 
and  the  perpetual  change  of  place, 
scene,  and  character,  had  almost  ob- 
literated from  my  mind  the  thoughts 
of  by-gone  days :  yet,  notwithstand- 
ing this,  when  the  boisterous  mirth 
had  somewhat  subsided,  when  I  had 
retired  to  rest,  imagination  would 
paint  in  forcible  colours  the  hoary 
Gothard,  our  little  valley,  and  still 
more  strongly  the  innocent  and  no 
doubt  disconsolate  Lisette.  But  the 
morning  came,  and  with  its  cares, 
duties,  and  pleasures,  banished  the 
musings  of  an  unhappy  man. 

The  day  of  battle  was  near ;  the 
clouds  of  night  were  dispersing,  and 
the  morning  was  to  prepare  us  more 
fully  for  the  engagement.  The  morn- 
ing came,  the  battalions  were  re- 
viewed, the  lines  were  formed,  and 
terrible  was  the  conflict.  Rocqnuer 
did  all  that  bravery  could  do :  twice 
I  saved  him  from  the  steel  of  the 
foe,  but  in  vain;  his  days  were  num- 
bered, and  he  died  gloriously.  We 
were  maddened  at  the  sight,  charged 
furiously,  and  the  day  was  ours. 

My  actions  had  not  been  unob- 
served by  the  colonel ;  he  bestowed 
great  encomiums  on  my  valour,  and 
advanced  me  to  the  vacant  post  of 
my  departed  friend.  My  misery  now 
drew  on  apace,  for  the  greatest  ele- 
vation of  fortune  can  never  secure 


THE    FALLEN    SOX    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


215 


against  a  reverse ;  nay,  the  sunshine 
of  our  life  is  generally  a  forerunner 
of  clouds  and  storms. 

A  few  months  after  this  commenc- 
ed the  celebrated  war  between  France 
and  Switzerland,  my  native  country. 
We  marched  immediately  to  the 
frontiers,  and  into  the  canton  of 
Berne:  need  I  say  with  what  a  heavy 
heart  I  obeyed  the  orders  of  my  ge- 
neral? But  a  soldier  must  follow 
wherever  he  is  led,  the  command  is 
imperious.  Happy  are  they  who  fight 
only  against  the  unjust  enemies,  the 
oppressors  of  their  country!  But 
what  were  my  feelings  when  we  were 
commanded  to  proceed  into  Uri,  my 
own  district,  the  place  of  my  birth ; 
yea,  even  to  St.  Gothard,  where  lived 
all  that  I  held  dear  in  life?  The 
Swiss  were  assembled  in  the  valley 
of  my  fathers ;  we  were  at  some  dis- 
tance from  them :  I  was  put  at  the 
head  of  a  detachment,  with  orders 
to  encamp  near  them  for  the  night, 
and  to  reconnoitre  their  numbers  and 
strength.  This  was  indeed  the  most 
miserable  night  I  ever  spent:  my 
soul  was  rent  asunder:  I  felt  all  the 
desolation  of  grief  and  the  wildness 
of  despair.  I  could  not  sleep:  in 
vain  I  threw  myself  down  in  my  tent, 
and  endeavoured  to  get  a  little  re- 
pose. And  must  I  then,  thought  I, 
raise  my  traitorous  arm  against  the 
land  of  my  brave  and  patriotic  an- 
cestors, against  the  companions  of 
my  childhood,  against  my  own  blood? 
Must  I  see  my  native  village  in  flames, 
and  myself  light  the  torch  which  is 
to  consume  and  destroy  it?  Unhap- 
py man,  to  what  a  state  has  thy  first 
crime  reduced  thee !  Thou  art  lost 
for  ever!  I  could  not  compose  my- 
self to  rest,  and  looking  out  of  my 
tent  I  beheld  the  antique  church  and 
spire  of  our  little  hamlet,  and  could 


distinguish  by  the  light  of  the  moon 
my  own  happy  and  peaceful  home. 
What  recollections  then  crowded  up- 
on me,  and  harrowed  up  my  soul 
with  keenest  sensations !  I  threw  a 
cloak  over  my  shoulders,  and  with 
feelings  which  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
scribe, wandered  over  the  well-known 
scenes  of  my  boyhood.  With  what 
emotions  I  traversed  the  little  green 
where  I  had  spent  the  innocent  and 
only  happy  days  of  my  life,  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  express.  I  arrived 
undiscovered  at  my  father's  cottage  : 
there  he  was,  little  altered  from  when 
I  left  home,  surrounded  by  the  most 
valiant  youths  of  the  place,  who, 
regardless  of  repose,  were  keeping 
their  vigils,  and  preparing  for  a  vi- 
gorous defence. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  rushing  in 
and  throwing  myself  at  his  feet,  when 
the  door  opened  and  my  brother 
came  out,  apparently  with  the  inten- 
tion of  carrying  some  communication 
to  the  main  body  of  their  little  force. 
He  was  passing  forward,  thinking  I 
was  one  of  the  men,  when  I  exclaim- 
ed in  a  tremendous  voice,  "  Henry  ! 
Henry!"—"  What,  William!"  said 
he,  starting  back  in  astonishment, 
"  our  long-lost  William!  Welcome  to 
St.  Gothard  in  the  time  of  danger!" 
It  cut  me  to  the  heart — I  could  not 
speak,  but  threw  open  my  cloak, 
that  the  sight  of  my  uniform  might 
save  me  the  painful  expression. — 
"  Ha,  is  it  so?"  said  he,  recoiling — ■ 
"  William,  and  a  Gaul! — impossible! 
— forbid  it,  heaven! — but  it  must 
have  been  to  escape  suspicion. — 
Speak,  relate  what  has  befallen  you 
since  you  retired  so  suddenly  from 
our  village,  and  say  why  this  dis- 
guise."— "  O  my  brother,"  I  answer- 
ed, "  this  is  indeed  no  disguise — my 
fate    is    hard!    But — but,"    said    I, 


216 


THE    FALLEN    SON    OF    SWITZERLAND. 


choking  with  emotion,  "  is  Lisctte 
yet  alive?"—"  No,"  said  he:  "  but 
thy  country  still  is  free ;  live  for  Switz- 
erland."— "  Henry,"  replied  I,  "  it 
must  not  be.  I  belong  to  France — 
I  have  served  long — been  treated 
well,  and  sworn  allegiance! — I  can- 
not bear  my  poor  father's  looks ;  tell 
him  cautiously  my  misfortunes  and  my 
grief. — Brother,  farewell !  farewell  for 
ever! — we  meet  not  again!" — I  forc- 
ed myself  from  him,  and  wandered 
on  to  the  church-yard :  there  I  saw, 
and  in  the  inanity  of  grief  worship- 
ed at  the  grave  of  Lisette,  the  poor 
fallen  lily! 

As  I  returned,  I  could  not  resist 
the  desire  to  have  another  and  a  last 
glance  at  my  aged  sire.  He  was 
seated  as  before,  with  my  brother 
and  the  other  youths  around  him. 
His  eyes  were  lit  up  with  a  sort  of 
frenzied  fire,  while  his  venerable 
locks  fell  over  his  face  and  shoulders. 
I  never  saw  him  so  animated ;  he  was 
exhorting  the  young  warriors  to  deeds 
of  valour  in  one  of  the  old  mountain 
songs.  His  voice  was  clear  and  dis- 
tinct, and  his  words  were  expressed 
with  a  pathos  which  might  have  mov- 
ed the  coldest  heart.  I  knew  them 
well,  for  I  had  sung  them  when  a 
child ;  and  the  ideas  associated  with 
them  were  more  than  I  could  bear.  I 
cast  a  parting  look  through  the  case- 
ment, and  hurried  away.  Restless  and 
miserable,  I  passed  the  night  agitat- 
ed and  harassed  by  the  thoughts  of 
my  duty,  the  yearnings  and  impulse 
of  nature,  and  the  love  of  my  conn- 
try. 

The  sun  rose,  and  soon  beheld  the 
contending  parties  drawn  out  against 


each  other.  Not  knowing  what  I 
did,  careless  of  life,  and  abandoned 
to  despair,  I  looked  forward  to  death 
with  pleasure.  Amid  the  ranks  of 
the  patriotic  Switzers,  I  beheld  the 
form  of  my  father  laid  on  a  kind  of 
wicker  couch,  and  supported  by  four 
of  his  countrymen:  my  conscience 
smote  me  almost  unbearably :  we  were 
commanded  to  charge;  I  moved  in- 
stinctively, and  advanced  amidst  the 
thick  fire  of  my  own  countrymen: 
we  fired,  that  is,  the  men  did — I 
would  rather  have  shot  myself  than 
fired  upon  my  own  friends — I  may 
say  relations.  I  looked  upon  my  be- 
loved father — there  he  lay  raised  on 
his  couch — his  eye  beaming  unut- 
terable brightness,  his  white  locks 
streaming  over  his  unbonneted  brow, 
and  one  hand  pointed  in  defiance 
against  the  invaders  of  his  country ; 
his  voice  I  heard,  loud  above  the  tu- 
multuous din  of  war,  encouraging 
and  bidding  his  sons  on  to  victory. 
I  saw  him  fix,  as  I  thought,  his  un- 
earthly, bright,  and  glittering  eye  on 
me,  but  it  was  for  an  instant  only — 
he  sunk  back — a  ball  had  struck  his 
aged  temples ;  he  fell  bathed  in  blood . 
My  brother  rushed  to  him — his  dy- 
ing hands  clasped  him,  and  his  dying- 
lips  blessed  him:  my  brother  looked 
with  a  deep  feeling  upon  the  enemy ; 
but  his  hour  had  also  arrived — ano- 
ther ball  smote  him  on  the  breast; 
he  reeled  back,  and  fell  a  corpse  on 
the  lifeless  body  of  my  father. 

I  uttered  a  scream  of  horror,  and 
turning  my  horse's  head,  galloped 
away:  the  colonel  ordered  the  men 
to  fire  upon  me;  they  did  fire,  but 
discharged  their  pieces  in  the  air. 


217 
CLEMENTINE    D'ISAURE: 

From  the  French  o/Florian. 

Clemence  d'Isaure,  the  subject  of  this  poem,  instituted  the  prizes  for  poetical  composi- 
tions given  to  the  Troubadours,  whence  originated  the  Floral  Games,  annually  celebrated 
in  the  month  of  May  at  Tolouse.  At  these  games  gold  violets,  eglantines,  and  marigolds 
were  distributed  by  the  chief  magistrates  of  the  city  to  such  of  the  Troubadours  as  excelled 
in  the  several  styles  of  poetry  appointed  for  the  competition.  The  statue  of  the  foundress, 
who  is  supposed  to  have  lived  in  the  14th  century,  stood  in  the  town-hall,  and  was  crowned 
on  these  occasions. Translator. 


The  fair  Clementine  was  a  Tolousan  maid ; 

Young  Lionel's  heart  she  engaged : 

He  told  her  his  love,  her  pledged  faith  had  received, 

But  fate  unpropitious  their  wishes  deceived ; 

No  compassion  their  sorrows  assuaged. 

Her  sire  for  another  had  destin'd  her  hand : 
In  vain  at  his  feet  she  implor'd; 
In  vain  sought  his  mercy,  her  passion  confess'd  ; 
But  deaf  to  her  pleading,  his  obdurate  breast 
Was  steel'd  against  him  she  ador'd. 

"  My  life,  O  my  father  !  that  life  which  you  gave 
Is  yours,"  the  fair  Clementine  cried ; 
"  But  compel  not  to  perjury,  grief,  and  despair, 
A  heart  which  is  breaking ;  reject  not  my  prayer — 
I  have  sworn  to  be  Lionel's  bride." 

Alphonso  unpitying  her  agonies  view'd ; 
Revenge  to  his  soul  was  most  dear  : 
In  a  tower  imprison'd,  and  loaded  with  chains, 
His  child  was  condemn'd  to  experience  pains, 
His  command  render'd  doubly  severe. 

And  Lionel  still  was  exposed  to  his  rage : 
Despising  the  dangers  he  knew, 
The  youth  to  the  tower,  in  defiance  of  fate, 
Like  a  bird  hov'ring  over  the  cage  of  his  mate, 
On  the  wings  of  affection  swift  flew. 

Fair  Clementine's  heart  beat  with  stronger  alarms 
When  the  voice  of  her  love  reach'd  her  ear. 
To  the  grate  of  her  prison  in  terror  she  goes : 
"  Ah  !  quit  this  dread  tower,  nor  rashly  expose 
An  existence  to  Clementine  dear ! 

"  My  father  still  threatens  a  horrid  revenge; 
Thy  life  I  entreat  thee  to  save. 
Oh !  seek  not  to  alter  the  mandate  of  fate : 
In  happier  countries  the  moment  await, 
Which  consigns  me  to  thee  or  a  grave ! 


^18  CLEMENTINE   D'lSAURE. 

"  But  fly  to  the  battle,  where  glory  invites; 
Go  gather  the  laurels  of  fame. 
Let  the  spirit  of  valour  with  mercy  combine, 
Round  victory's  standard  the  olive  entwine, 
And  thy  watchword  be  Clementine's  name. 

"  See  these  marigold,  violet,  and  eglantine  flowers, 
All  drooping  and  bathed  with  my  tears  : 
To  no  profane  gaze  be  this  token  reveal'd  ; 
Enshrin'd  next  thy  heart  bear  it  ever  conceal'd, 
Expressive  of  love  and  my  fears." 

No  tear  down  the  pale  cheek  of  Lionel  fell ; 
His  eyes  were  still  fix'd  on  the  fair : 
No  sigh  spoke  his  anguish,  too  great  for  relief; 
His  nerves  relax  not  to  the  softness  of  grief; 
The  statue  he  seem'd  of  despair. 

Thus  long  had  he  stood,  but  that  Clementine's  voice 
In  accents  of  terror  arose: 

"  Oh !  fly  hence,  my  Lionel,  yield  to  my  prayer, 
Nor  continue  my  father's  dire  vengeance  to  dare ; 
In  arms  seek  more  generous  foes !" 

Her  entreaties  repeated,  at  length  he  obey'd. 
A  warrior  he  now  shone  in  arms  ; 
His  breastplate  concealing  the  gift  of  his  love, 
For  his  country  he  panted  his  valour  to  prove, 
All  Languedoc  rang  with  alarms. 

To  the  walls  of  Tolouse  the  fierce  enemy  turn'd 
Their  standard,  which  conquest  insured. 
To  the  city  his  footsteps  young  Lionel  bends, 
O'er  Clementine  danger,  destruction,  impends ; 
She's  in  that  fated  city  immur'd. 

On  the  ramparts  collected  the  flower  of  Tolouse ; 
But  courage,  alas!  here  was  vain. 
The  English  repulsed,  but  return'd  with  more  force, 
Like  a  torrent  resistless  swept  all  in  their  course, 
And  mounted  on  heaps  of  the  slain. 

One  veteran  still  the  fierce  combat  maintain'd, 
Who  disdain' d  like  his  comrades  to  yield; 
Alone  he  resisted  a  host  of  his  foes — 
What  can  valour  unaided  to  numbers  oppose  ? 
Exhausted  he  sank  on  the  field. 

The  unequal  contest  brave  Lionel  saw, 

Indignant  he  rush'd  from  the  walls  : 

The  uplifted  sword  flash'd  the  death  which  he  braved ; 

The  stroke  is  arrested,  the  veteran  sav'd, 

Bur  his  young  champion  staggers  and  falls. 


THK    KNIGHTS    OF    THE    HOLY    WAIJ. 

The  veteran  receives  him,  examines  the  wound — 
'Tis  mortal!  he  utters  a  groan: 
Yet  a  faint  beam  of  joy  lightens  Lionel's  eyes — 
In  the  warrior  he  Clementine's  parent  descries, 
Whose  life  he  had  saved  with  his  own. 

"  O  Alphonso!  the  gift  which  had  render 'd  life  dear 
To  my  prayers  you  harshly  denied : 
My  revenge  is,  preserving  your  days  so  rever'd, 
As  the  father  of  Clementine  doubly  endear 'd, 
Let  my  dying  request  be  your  guide : 

"  These  flowers,  now  faded  and  stain'd  with  my  blood, 

Are  sacred  memorials  of  love ; 

To  your  hand  I  commit  them  :  oh !  gently  prepare 

Your  child  for  the  horrible  tale  they  declare ! 

In  this  favour  your  penitence  prove. 

"  Oh !  say  that  the  sacred  deposit  of  love 

Is  now  to  my  dying  lips  press'd: 

Near  my  heart,  as  she  wish'd,  it  was  ever  conceal'd; 

To  no  gaze  profane  was  it  ever  reveal'd — 

I  obey'd  in  each  point  her  behest." 

The  prey  of  remorse,  now  Alphonso  return'd 

To  his  child  the  sad  tale  to  relate : 

Rejecting  all  comfort,  she  cherish'd  her  grief, 

In  the  tomb's  peaceful  shelter  she  sought  for  relief, 

And  silently  welcomed  her  fate. 

One  long-favour'd  project  still  lived  in  her  mind, 
That  tradition  her  name  might  record : 
She  lived  but  the  whole  of  her  dower  to  devise, 
That  the  flowers  she  loved  as  an  annual  prize 
The  most  skilful  bard  should  reward. 

Ever  since  has  her  country  the  custom  observed ; 

In  its  annals  her  name  is  enroll'd  : 

The  eglantine,  marigold,  violet  still  seen, 

The  Troubadour's  badge  of  distinction  has  been; 

And  these  flowers  are  wrought  in  pure  gold. 

Valeria. 
13th  August,  1S23. 


219 


Aillacii  na  Lochlanach,  pri- 
mogenitor and  chieftain  of  the  clan 
Mac  Lachlan,  for  the   purpose  of 

Vol,  IT.  No.  X. 


GAELIC  RELICS. 
No.  VII. 

THK    KNIGHTS    OF   THE    HOLY    WAR. 

sending  Aigeantacha  in  a  lone  bark 
to  St.  Columba,  having  risen  "  from 
the  oozy  beds  of  ocean,"  his  behest 
G  a 


tm 


THE    KNIGHTS   OF   THH    HOLY    WAR. 


is  immediately  obeyed ;  but  with  great 
difficulty  the  Muime  obtains  an  op- 
portunity to  inform  her  dalts  of  their 
parentage.  They  escape  to  the  main 
land,  and  join  the  volunteers  of  the 
Crusade.  Campa  na  Aillach  being 
the  oldest,  takes  a  lead  in  their  pro- 
gress to  the  south,  and  near  the  falls 
of  the  river  Cart  in  Renfrewshire, 
he  observed  a  body  of  the  royal  sol- 
diery giving  way  before  a  host  of  in- 
surgents. The  genius  for  war  intui- 
tive to  a  Highland  chieftain  impel- 
led the  youth,  bred  in  a  cloister,  to 
rally  a  veteran  military  band.  Un- 
sheathing the  sword  of  his  fathers, 
he  exclaimed,  that  a  son  of  St.  Co- 
lumba  was  predestined  to  win  a  name 
among  the  warriors  of  Scotland.  The 
soldiers  returned  to  the  charge,  and 
the  neophyte  of  battle  led  them  for- 
ward with  such  intrepidity  and  con- 
duct as  ensured  a  victory.  His  two 
companions  joined  him  soon  after 
the  onset;  but  the  elderbeing  regard- 
ed as  leader  in  the  combat,  he  took 
the  name  of  Campa  na  Aillach,  which, 
like  the  same  style  adopted  at  an 
earlier  period  by  Oduine,  was  in  the 
changes  of  dialect  pronounced  Camp- 
bell. 

The  abbey  church  of  Paisley  was 
then  almost  finished,  and  thither  the 
three  striplings  repaired  to  offer 
thanksgiving  to  the  God  of  battles  for 
the  signal  success  of  their  arms.  Tra- 
dition tells,  that  from  their  anthem 
first  reverberated  the  wonderful  echo 
noticed  by  Mr.  Pennant  as  the  great- 
est curiosity  in  Paisley.  "  It  is  a 
small  vaulted  Gothic  chapel,  and  the 
door  when  shut  occasions  a  report 
equal  to  a  loud  clap  of  thunder.  If 
you  strike  a  single  note  of  music,  you 
hear  the  sound  gradually  ascending 
with  a  great  number  of  repetitions, 
till  it  dies  away  at  an  immense  dis- 


tance, and  all  the  while  diffusing  it- 
self through  the  circumambient  air. 
A  good  voice  in  singing,  or  a  musical 
instrument  played  upon,  produces  an 
effect  inexpressibly  agreeable.  The 
deepest  as  well  as  the  most  acute 
tones  are  distinctly  reverberated,  and 
those  at  regular  intervals  of  time. 
When  a  musical  instrument  is  sound- 
ed, it  has  the  effect  of  a  number  of 
like  size  and  kind  playing  in  concert." 
The  fame  of  the  engagement  beside 
the  falls  of  the  Cart  drew  multitudes 
to  Paisley,  to  pour  out  their  hearts 
in  gratitude  to  the  Almighty  Con- 
queror, or  to  gain  a  sight  of  the  lead- 
er, supposed  to  be  inspired  for  the 
occasion.  William,  afterwards  the 
Lion,  King  of  Scotland,  happened 
to  enter  the  chapel  at  the  same  time 
with  the  three  sons  of  St.  Columba, 
and  hearing  the  repeated  modulations 
of  their  voices,  he  ascribed  the  unex- 
ampled echo  to  a  miraculous  testimo- 
nial in  their  favour.  He  took  the 
strangers  under  his  protection;  but 
the  envy  of  courtiers,  and  the  crafty 
influence  of  the  usurpers,  deprived 
them  of  opportunity  to  seek  from  the 
king  redress  of  their  wrongs.  The 
heir  of  Skipness,  now  represented 
by  Campbell  of  Islay,  had  acquired 
a  name  at  the  fight  of  the  waterfall 
—  Campa  na  Aillach,  to  which  the 
prince  added  Sguineach,  or  rapid. 
The  heir  of  Lamont,  by  wai'like  en- 
terprise and  eminent  services  to  the 
wounded  soldiers  of  the  cross,  attain- 
ed the  style  of  Maol  Challum  na 
Liomhaid,  a  servant  to  St.  Columba, 
and  the  whetter,  who  set  a  keen  edge 
of  valour  on  the  spirits  of  the  people. 
Aillegeasach  na  Amus  na  Luip,  heir 
of  the  Macallister  chief,  was  so  call- 
ed on  account  of  the  ardour  of  his 
passion  for  fame,  and  his  distinguish- 
ed address  in  conducting  an  ambush. 


THE    KNIGHTS    OF    THE    HOLY    WAR. 


221 


The  three  disciples  of  St.  Columba 
were  honoured  with  knighthood,  in 
recompence  for  great  exploits,  and 
returning  to  Scotland,  found  that 
their  early  patron  had  ascended  the 
throne.  The  king  was  on  the  eve 
of  marching  northwards,  to  quell  an 
insurrection  of  the  men  of  Ross.  The 
three  knights  attended  their  sove- 
reign on  this  expedition,  and  proved 
that  their  courage  and  skill  had  not 
been  overrated  by  the  voice  of  fame. 
William  the  Lion  offered  them  large 
possessions  in  the  south;  but  the  im- 
petuous Amus  na  Luip  replied  for 
himself  and  friends,  "  The  gifts  of 
the  king  be  to  the  warriors  of  land- 
less ancestry !"  and  proceeded  to  ask 
the  favours  related  in  the  ode,  of 
which  this  short  sketch  is  explana- 
tory. The  king  granted  all  their  re- 
quests. They  erected  a  fortress  op- 
posite to  the  castle  which  belonged  to 
the  forefathers  of  Campa  na  Aillach; 
and  by  assuming  necromantic  power, 
struck  the  usurpers  with  terror.  They 
all  regained  their  hereditary  rights, 
and  tradition  says  they  resided  to- 
gether, alternately  passing  the  time 
in  each  other's  castles.  To  deter  the 
usurpers  from  renewing  hostilities, 
they  sedulously  displayed  their  magi- 
cal pretensions;  and  in  those  days 
of  ignorance,  it  was  easy  to  give  sci- 
entific attainments  a  mysterious  and 
marvellous  appearance. 

Not  fifty  years  ago  many  old  peo- 
ple spoke  of  the  White  Cross  Knights 
as  mortals  "  gifted  with  powers  above 
the  powers  of  man."  Nursery  tales, 
or  ouarskals  in  the  Gaelic  language, 
describe  them  as  shadowless,  in  con- 
sequence of  a  compact  with  the  pow- 
ers of  darkness,  all  witches  and  war- 
locks or  wizards  being  supposed  to 
give  their  shadow  to  Lucifer  as  an 
earnssl  of  entire  subservience.    The 


translator  has  heard  the  supernatu- 
ral semblances  rationally  accounted 
for  by  a  gentleman,  who  took  the 
trouble  of  satisfying  young  minds, 
that  the  terrors  excited  by  those  won- 
derful stories  were  groundless,  being 
merely  the  effect  of  ignorant  misre- 
presentation. The  ovarskals  relate, 
that  in  a  contagious  sickness  which 
prevailed  in  their  country,  the  Knights 
of  the  White  Cross  went  from  bhali 
to  bhali,  that  is,  from  hamlet  to  ham- 
let, curing  the  diseased  ;  and  after- 
wards, some  persons  urged  by  ex- 
treme distress  applied  to  them  at 
home.  All  who  ventured  to  the  cas- 
tellated domicile  of  sorcery  were 
courteously  received,  and  conducted 
to  a  spacious  subterranean  chamber, 
where  the  three  knights,  clad  in  dark 
crimson  or  flame-coloured  garments, 
ornamented  with  white  crosses,  gave 
audience  on  tripods,  with  sable  de- 
mons and  speaking  birds  chained  to 
their  seats  of  dignity.  A  half-open 
door  revealed  another  apartment, 
called  the  vault  of  perpetual  fire, 
whence  incessant  smoke  was  seen  to 
issue  from  a  strange  aperture  in  the 
building,  and  a  roar  like  thunder  ap- 
palled the  stoutest  hearts— especial- 
ly as,  when  the  patients  involuntarily 
turned  an  eye  to  the  half-concealed 
recess,  they  beheld  men  and  wo- 
men in  strange  dresses  fixed  in  the 
wall.  They  whose  courage,  curio- 
sity, or  suffering  induced  a  return, 
still  found  the  figures  petrified  in  the 
same  position ;  and  the  answers  to 
their  questions,  or  the  prescriptions 
for  their  ailments,  came  echoing  from 
remote  skies,  or  from  depths  of  the 
earth.  These  horrific  appearances 
dwindle  to  common  incidents  by  at- 
tributing the  fire  and  smoke  to  the 
laboratory  of  alchemical  pursuits,  so 
prevalent  in  the  ages  of  credulous, 
G  r,  2 


%£Z 


THB    KNIGHTS    OF    THE    HOLY    WAR, 


yet  eventually  beneficial  experiment ; 
and  the  thunder  was  only  the  sound 
of  bellows,  or  some  other  device  to 
fan  the  flame  of  the  furnace.  The 
demons  were  Moors  brought  from 
eastern  climes;  and  the  speaking 
birds,  starlings  or  magpies.  The 
voices  from  upper  sky,  or  dark  pro- 
founds of  the  earth,  might  be  pro- 
duced by  ventriloquism ;  and  the  fi- 
gures on  the  walls  were  portraits,  an 
imitation  of  the  human  likeness,  then 
unknown  to  the  children  of  primitive 
simplicity.  The  shooting  fires,  by 
which  the  knights  annoyed  their  ene- 
mies in  the  first  assault  on  the  usurp- 
ers, were  perhaps  similar  to  the  an- 
cient Grecian  fire,  or  modern  fire- 
works; and  the  loud  summons  to 
surrender,  which  seemed  to  come 
from  another  world,  was  probably 
conveyed  by  a  speaking-trumpet. 

Having  subdued  the  foe,  our  he- 
roes made  a  beneficent  use  of  their 
power.  They  cured  all  manner  of 
wounds,  bruises,  fractures,  sores,  and 
distempers ;  and  made  known  to  old 
women  the  virtues  of  herbs  for  me- 
dicine, or  for  dyeing  woollen  yarn. 
They  taught  the  men  to  form  tools 
for  handicraft  trades,  and  to  cultivate 
serviceable  plants.  Many  salutary 
herbs  were  raised  in  fenced  inclosures 
near  their  castles,  and  the  slips  or 
seeds  they  distributed  never  flou- 
rished with  the  luxuriance  imparted 
by  the  weird  auspices  of  the  knights 
— a  disparity  occasioned  no  doubt 
by  less  skilful  culture,  though  im- 
puted to  the  potency  of  occult  sci- 
ence. The  arts  of  preparing  malt, 
and  brewing  ale  or  whiskey ;  improve- 
ments in  boat-buikling  and  fishing; 
in  short,  all  the  comforts  and  con- 
veniences of  life  were  augmented  to 
the  men  who  accepted  instruction  at 
the  castles  of  magic;  and  old  women 


were  directed  to  colour  yarn  with 
indigenous  roots,  or  the  brown  moss 
of  the  woods  and  rocks;  as  also 
taught  more  expeditious  methods  in 
weaving  their  many-tinted  webs,  and 
garters  chiefly  used  as  streamers  for 
bagpipes.     . 

In  some  legends  there  is  a  confus- 
ed account  of  "  grey  hags"  trans- 
formed to  reptiles,  spinning  thread 
of  wonderful  tenacity — in  all  likeli- 
hood silk-worms;  and  we  are  told  of 
"shining  metal  that  brought  down  the 
fires  of  the  sun,"  supposed  to  be  a 
burning  glass  or  convex  mirror.  The 
well-informed  reader  will  trace  with 
facility  the  rationale  of  every  marvel 
in  the  following  panegyric: 

"  As  the  bird  of  morning  soars 
high  to  hail  in  notes  of  music  the 
awakening  sun,  so  mounts  the  spirit 
of  song,  enkindling  with  deeds  of  re- 
nown. Heroes  of  the  roaring  water- 
fall, first  to  swell  the  echo  of  ten 
thousand  voices!  right-hands  of  Wil- 
liam the  Lion  of  Alba,  crushing  with 
mighty  grasp  the  spoilers  of  true- 
hearted  men!  the  death  of  far-dis- 
tant foes  was  folded  in  your  rattling 
mail!  Hail  to  the  eyes  that  held  com- 
munion with  the  stars  above,  and 
the  depths  of  the  earth  and  sea ! 
Hail  to  the  ears  that  drank  unearthly 
murmurs  from  the  clouds  aloft,  and 
beneath  the  foundation  of  all  the 
hills !  Rulers  of  shooting  fires,  it  was 
yours  to  consume  the  opposers  of 
your  right!  Lords  of  the  frightful 
elves  of  caverned  mountains,  gloomy 
woods,  and  hoarse  tumbling  torrents ! 
chiefs  over  all  the  fays  of  Tomhans, 
with  their  green  dewy  herbs,  ye  knew 
the  leaves  that  close  the  yawning 
gashes  of  spear  and  sword;  and  ye 
raised  from  the  heathy  bed  of  suffer- 
ing the  hero  spent  with  toils  of  fame, 
or  the  daughter  of  beauty  worn  down 


THE    KNIGHTS    OF    TI1K    HOLY    WAR. 


223 


in  a  chase  of  hinds!  Earth,  air,  fire, 
river,  and  ocean  confessed  the  pow- 
er that  bent  the  secret  soul  of  man, 
rolling  away  the  keenest  pangs  of 
love,  or  the  chilling  mildews  of  aver- 
sion !  Commanders  of  thrice  three 
mute  demons!  demons  more  black 
than  fogs  before  a  thunder-storm ! 
the  feeders  of  your  never-dying  fires, 
and  serfs  to  your  speaking  birds,  with 
all  their  changing  hues  of  raven 
plumage!  Campa  na  Aillach  na  Sgui- 
neach,  Maol  Challum  na  Liomhaid, 
Aillegeasach  na  Amus  na  Luip,  un- 
known to  yourselves  the  blood  of 
mighty  forefathers  beat  high  at  your 
hearts  in  the  isle  of  holy  vigils.  As 
unfledged  eaglets  fallen  from  tower- 
ing cliffs  to  a  low  hollow,  ye  waxed 
unaided,  and  rose  in  might  of  valour 
above  thousands  of  the  brave;  and 
the  foes  of  your  nursing  mother,  the 
holy  church,  grew  feeble  beneath  the 
fiery  glances  of  your  eyes." 

The  warriors  of  the  cross  return 
bright  beams  of  fame  to  their  father- 
land; but  St.  Columba  is  no  retreat 
for  heroes  burning  with  a  sense  of 
wrongs  unredressed.  The  sworn 
brothers  join  their  king  to  quell  the 
fierce  men  of  Ross,  and  their  unfail- 
ing swords  flash  foremost  in  the  paths 
of  victory. 

"  What  reward  shall  William  the 
Lion  confer  on  the  heroes  of  his  first 
northern  field  ?"  said  the  king.  "  An 
inheritance  from  sea  to  sea  shall  be 
divided  by  the  Knights  of  the  Holy 
War." 

"  The  gifts  of  the  king  be  to  war- 
riors of  landless  ancestry !"  returned 
Aillegeasach  na  Amus  na  Luip.  "  We 
three  ask  but  the  land  of  a  lonff  line 
of  fathers." 

"  He  that  gainsays  your  right 
shall  be  hung  up  to  feed  the  eagles," 
said  the  king.     "  The  hosts  of  Scotia. 


in  wrath  shall  pour  on  them  close 
and  terrible  as  a  ridge  of  fire." 

"  The  wolf  in  his  den  and  the  fox 
in  the  hole  defy  the  arrow,  the  pole- 
axe,  and  spear ;  yet  the  art  of  the 
hunter  will  prevail,"  said  Maol  Chal- 
lum na  Liomhaid.  ■  "  King  of  Scotia, 
we  ask  but  the  hand  of  the  builder 
to  raise  a  fortress,  and  a  chosen  few 
of  the  brave  to  protect  the  growing 
walls.  This  done,  the  servants  of 
the  king  return  to  the  foot  of  his 
throne,  and  leave  the  Knights  of  the 
Holy  War  to  prosper  in  his  name 
that  gave  himself  for  the  faithful." 

The  fortress  crowns  a  rock  within 
a  stone's -throw  of  little  men  that 
quaked  on  beholding  demon  forms 
stalking  over  the  plains.  The  spirits 
of  darkness,  with  aspect  blacker  than 
overhanging  rocks  of  the  main,  are 
looking  out  amidst  broad -winged 
ruddy  flames,  while  all  the  earth  is 
wrapped  in  the  shades  of  night,  and 
the  dreary  caves  of  the  dead  send 
forth  voices  of  horror.  From  the 
battlements  of  the  fortress  wild  wa- 
vering streams  of  light  curl  over  the 
foe,  as  fangs  of  the  adder  striking 
stings  of  death;  and  aloft  in  air  the 
howling  ghosts  of  their  fathers  warn 
them  of  sweeping  desolation. 

The  sun  struggling  through  a  win- 
try sky  hastens  to  rest.  Heavily  and 
late  he  looks  abroad  on  the  returning 
day.  Pale  tinges  of  blue  mingle  with 
grey  and  fleecy  clouds;  and  youthful 
hunters  seek  counsel  of  the  aged, 
whether  fresh-falling  snow  or  soft- 
ening rain  shall  efface  the  tracks  of 
the  deer.  But  no  hunter  from  the 
castle  of  the  foe  dares  to  cross  the 
fern-skirted  glen,  nor  ventures  one 
ally  to  send  supplies  for  food.  Fa- 
mine with  gaunt  strides  arrives  to 
take  part  with  the  Knights  of  the 
Holy   War.     The   right  is   gained. 


244 


TJIK    KNIGHTS    OF    THIi    HOLY    WAR. 


Hosts  of  joyful  vassals  gather  round 
Campa  na  Aillach  na  Sguineaeh. 

"  Call  me  a  priest,"  spoke  the  he- 
ro, "  call  me  a  priest,  to  say  thrice 
nine  masses  for  the  soul  of  Aigean- 
tacha,  the  Muime,  who  ventured  in 
a  lone  bark  with  a  single  oar,  labour- 
ed by  the  hand  of  age.  Pile  high 
the  cairn,  where  the  blast  unheard 
by  man  sighs  over  her  head;  and 
the  withered  grass,  glittering  in  an 
icy  shroud,  rustles  before  the  breath 
of  night;  while  the  moon  climbs  high 
amid  deep  blue  clouds,  and  the  stars 
swim  in  brightness  over  the  rest  of  a 
heroine.  Aigeantacha  is  with  her  fa- 
thers, the  mighty  lords  of  a  hundred 
isles,  in  wreaths  of  silvery  vapour, 
and  her  fame  shall  not  wax  dim  in 
the  mist  of  years.  Songs  of  bards 
shall  tell  to  the  latest  time  that  the 
daughter  of  Clan  Colla  was  the  young 
love  of  heroes,  the  conquering  arm 
of  war,  the  lovely  beam  of  feasts, 
and  the  awful  dread  of  foes.  Wrap- 
ped in  the  folds  of  disguise,  while 
squalls  of  ocean  howled  over  the 
lone  bark,  she  came  to  awake  the 
spirit  of  their  fathers  in  chiefs  un- 
conscious of  their  descent  from  the 
loins  of  the  valiant.  Holy  sons  of 
the  church!  let  your  masses  give  re- 
pose to  the  soul  of  Aigeantacha  Clan 
Colla  of  Islay,  the  spouse  of  Aillach 
na  Lochlanach,  first  of  heroes.  Let 
bards  spread  far  and  wide  her  long- 
streaming  fame ;  and  warriors  raise 
this  cairn,  that  her  spirit,  floating  on 
the  gale  of  the  hills,  may  rejoice. 
That  done,  the  arms  of  the  sworn 
brothers  and  the  true-hearted  fol- 
lowers of  Campa  na  Aillach  na  Sgui- 
neach  shall  mix  their  beams  of  steel 
with  the  ringing  mail,  and  meteors 
of  death  shall  quiver  among  the  foes 
of  the  mighty  in  battle." 

Another  and  another  fortress  is 


lined  out  against  the  opposers  of 
Maol  Challum  na  Liomhaid  and 
Aillegeasach  na  Amus  na  Luip.  De- 
mons, with  yells  wildly  sad,  disturb 
the  silence  of  night,  and  coward  souls 
shrink  in  dismay.  They  fly — but  as 
a  burst  of  the  squally  north,  the 
knights  pursue.  Every  gurgling  rill 
is  reddened  with  the  blood  of  usurp- 
ers or  their  people.  As  the  vapoury 
beam  of  a  waning  morn,  the  grim 
ghosts  of  their  fathers,  with  unearth- 
ly murmurs  of  grief,  are,  half  view- 
less, hovering  on  their  flight,  beck- 
oning them  away  from  the  ambush 
of  Aillegeasach  na  Amus  na  Luip. 
His  men  of  might  spring  terrible  from 
the  sounding  heath,  and  as  waves 
climb  against  the  jutting  rocks  and 
dash  to  the  opposite  shore,  so  the 
warriors  of  Campa  na  Aillach  na 
Sguineaeh  meet  on  all  sides  the  tot- 
tering multitudes.  They  fall  as  snow- 
drifts before  the  ruffled  wing  of  an 
eastern  gale — the  earth  is  dyed  with 
their  gore — the  shrill  spirit  of  the 
hills  repeats  their  scream  of  death. 
Heroes  of  old  come  from  their 
caves  of  rest  to  gaze  on  their  de- 
scendants restored  to  wide-stretch- 
ing lands.  Their  airy  forms  glow 
in  brightness  at  the  face  of  their 
sons.  The  foe  has  passed  away  as 
meteors  setting  in  the  desert;  but 
the  right-hands  of  William  the  Lion, 
King  of  Scotia,  the  soldiers,  the  va- 
liant Knights  of  the  Cross,  shall  in 
peace  shed  abroad  their  light  as  sun- 
shine after  a  storm,  and  their  power 
shall  arise  a  growing  day  among  the 
great  in  arms.  Hail  to  the  stars  of 
battle  !  the  breakers  of  the  shields ! 
though  the  bard  stands  on  their 
grave,  and  with  four  steps  may  com- 
pass their  dwelling  that  covered  fields 
of  fame  in  the  tempest  of  their  va- 
lour!   The  grass  grows   rank,  and 


THIS    Willi    OF.  A    GENIUS. 


225 


the  flower  of  the  vale  shakes  its  lovely 
head  over  the  mouldering  bones  of 
the  strength  of  nations;  the  leaves 
wither,  and  are  scattered  by  the 
lonely  sighing  breeze:  but  the  re- 
nown of  the  terrible  in  fights  of  steel, 
the  mouth  of  wisdom,  the  arm  that 
sheltered  crowds  of  the  unhappy, 
and  chased  disease  from  the  pale  and 
feeble,  shall  be  known  for  ever  among 
the  chiefs  of  all  the  people.  They 
are  mixed  with  the  dim  phantoms  of 
night,  but  their  deeds  shall  live  in 
song;  and  warriors,  bending  the 
haughty  head  of  power,  shall  add 


to  their  cairns,  saying  in  sadness, 
"  A  heap  of  stones,  covered  with 
moss  and  waving  tufts  of  grass,  is 
all  that  remains  of  them  that  filled 
all  the  voices  of  fame,  the  compa- 
nions of  kings  in  broad-skirted  hosts, 
of  the  mighty  in  arms.  The  roar 
of  battle  passes  over  them,  and  they 
lift  no  point  of  steel.  The  fire  of 
their  bosom  is  cold  in  the  narrow 
house ;  but  the  light  of  their  renown 
shall  not  fail.  Heroes  unborn  shall 
turn  their  eyes  to  the  blaze  on  the 
field  of  their  first  fight." 

B.  G. 


THE  WIFE  OF  A  GENIUS. 


(Concluded 

It  was  not  long  after  our  adven- 
ture at  the  masquerade,  that  one 
night  my  husband  having  enjoyed 
himself  at  a  coffee-house  dinner, 
felt  so  much  in  humour  for  better 
company  than  he  expected  to  find 
with  me  at  home,  that  he  resolved  to 
seek  it  elsewhere.  He  was  coming 
down  Charlotte-street,  when  he  per- 
ceived through  the  Venetian  blinds 
of  one  of  the  houses  there  a  compa- 
ny engaged  over  some  very  hand- 
some decanters  and  the  remains  of 
a  dessert,  the  evident  finale  of  a  din- 
ner-party. As  he  felt  in  the  best 
possible  humour  with  himself,  he 
doubted  not  that  he  could  much 
contribute  to  the  harmony  of  this 
after-dinner  party  :  he  therefore,  al- 
though he  was  totally  unacquainted 
with  any  of  the  gentlemen  who  form- 
ed it,  determined  to  become  one  of 
them.  He  gave  an  authoritative  rap 
at  the  door;  and  whether  the  servant 
who  opened  it  was  petrified  at  my 
husband's  impudence,  or  had  helped 
himself  to  the  bottom  of  the  bottles, 
and  imagined  that  he  was  some  friend 


from  p.  167.) 

of  his  master's,  who,  having  been 
called  out,  had  returned  to  the  com- 
pany, he  readily  opened  the  dining- 
room  door,  and  my  gentleman  en- 
tered, and  seated  himself  at  the  end 
of  the  table,  which  he  says  was  near- 
ly deserted ;  probably  from  the  gen- 
tlemen having  taken  the  places  which 
the  ladies  had  left  to  surround  the 
"  sun  of  our  table."  Whether  it 
were  that  the  lengthened  wicks  of 
the  candles  drew  a  misty  as  well  as 
a  prismatic  ray  from  the  brilliant  cut 
glass  decanters  on  the  table,  and  af- 
fected the  visionary  organs  of  those 
at  the  head  of  the  room,  or  whether 
the  wine  had  caused  them  to  imagine 
the  face  of  my  husband  to  be  some 
optical  illusion,  it  appears  that  he 
might  have  kept  his  seat  for  some 
time  unheeded,  had  he  been  content 
to  remain  silent.  Perceiving,  how- 
ever, the  wine  circulating  in  a  round 
far  beyond  his  reach,  he  begged 
leave  to  expostulate  on  the  cruelty 
of  detaining  such  beverage  from  one 
who  was  a  gentleman  and  a  stranger. 
The  astonishment  of  the  master  of 


THK    WIFE    OF   A    GENIUS. 


the  house  at  this  appeal  could  only 
equal  that  shewn  by  Macbeth  on  the 
entrance  of  the  bloody  Banquo;  in- 
deed the  surprise  of  the  whole  com- 
pany was  equal,  and  such  a  momen- 
tary panic  seized  a  gentleman  who 
was  filling  to  "  May  the  evening's 
amusement  bear  the  morning's  reflec- 
tion!" that  he  was  mechanically  pass- 
ing the  bottle  to  the  voice  at  the  end 
of  the  room,  when  the  gentleman  of 
the  house,  Hying  into  a  violent  pas- 
sion, and  making  up  in  noise  what  he 
wanted  in  courage,  with  the  most  op- 
probrious epithets  commanded  Beau- 
mont to  leave  the  room.  Backed 
by  his  friends,  he  was  actually  in  the 
act  of  collaring  Beaumont  when  he 
knocked  him  down.  Overcome  by 
numbers,  my  husband  was  dragged 
to  the  watchhouse,  in  which  he  re- 
mained all  night,  and  on  the  follow- 
ing day  entered  in  propria  persona 
to  relate  his  adventure,  the  termina- 
tion of  which  was,  that  he  was  re- 
gularly bailed,  to  appear  and  take 
his  trial  for  this  offence  at  the  next 
quarter-sessions. 

But  to  enter  into  every  scrape  in 
which  he  involved  himself  would  be 
tiresome;  while  his  attention  to  me 
became  as  disagreeable  as  his  neg- 
lect; though  I  confess  I  still  loved 
him,  and  placed  all  his  errors  to  the  ac- 
count of  that  high  spirit  which,  alas ! 
was  as  deeply  seated  in  his  heart  as 
his  head.  At  one  time  he  would 
swear  I  could  ride,  and  clapping  me 
on  some  unbroken  pony,  would  im- 
pel me  forward  at  the  risk  of  my  life, 
or  until  I  fell  off  with  terror.  At  an-  j 
other  time  he  kept  a  pleasure-boat, 
in  which  I  and  my  children  were 
twenty  times  in  danger  of  drowning. 
But  I  had  not  long  to  complain  of 
this.  The  time  had  now  arrived 
when  our  bills  were  to  be  paid,  and 


we  were  to  suffer  for  past  follies. 
Some  were  put  off  by  the  eloquence 
of  my  husband,  till  at  length,  when 
all  his  splendid  promises  were  no 
longer  believed,  he  had  recourse  to 
bullying  his  creditors.  This  availed 
but  very  little,  when  at  length  a  she- 
riff's officer  swept  off  all  our  house- 
hold goods,  and  we  were  left  poor 
indeed.  Notwithstanding  ruin  ap- 
peared to  stare  us  in  the  face,  nothing 
seemed  to  stop  this  mad  career  of  my 
husband,  who,  still  relying  upon  the 
resources  of  his  genius,  seemed  to 
imagine  that  Fortune  wovdd  return  at 
his  beck,  or  at  least  favour  him  the 
first  moment  he  endeavoured  to  de- 
tain her.  He  sold  the  annuity  grant- 
ed by  Lord  L.  and  in  a  few  weeks 
commenced  barrister  in  form.  He 
took  handsome  chambers  in  one  of 
the  inns  of  court,  and  a  house  in  the 
country,  which  he  furnished  in  an 
expensive  manner ;  and  a  second  se- 
ries of  folly  was  pursued,  until  I  found 
myself  in  an  obscure  lodging  with 
two  children,  one  of  whom,  from  dis- 
ease and  poverty,  soon  yielded  up 
the  ghost.  We  did  not  indeed  fall 
at  once  into  this  state  of  misery,  but 
we  let  ourselves  down  to  it  step  by 
step,  when  Beaumont  had  tried  eve- 
ry scheme,  until  his  prose  and  poetry 
were  alike  disregarded,  and  he  sought 
to  reconcile  himself  to  this  with  the 
usual  consolation  on  these  occasions 
— the  viciousness  of  the  public  taste. 
What  was  to  be  done?  "Thank hea- 
ven, we  were  without  a  ducat!" 

Beaumont,  whose  resources  seem- 
ed to  arise  as  quickly  as  they  were 
dissipated,  now  turned  his  thoughts 
to  the  stage.  He  had  a  good  voice, 
figure,  and  idea  of  his  author  ;  and 
no  sooner  said  than  done — view  him 
as  a  theatrical  aspirant  for  fame. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  difference 


THE    WI.FK    OF    A    GRNIUS. 


227 


of  reception  with  which  he  was  greet- 
ed in  his  thus  coming  forward  among 
strangers,  so  different  from  that  which 
encouraged  him  in  our  circle.  He 
had  prevailed  on  me  to  repair  to  one 
of  those  private  nurseries  of  the  sock 
and  buskin,  in  order  that  he  might 
improve  himself  by  practice,  and  that 
I  might  witness  the  thunders  of  ap- 
plause with  which  he  was  to  be  greet- 
ed. My  heart  beat  violently  when 
the  curtain  drew  up,  and  I  would 
gladly  have  participated  in  any  plea- 
sure which  my  husband  might  re- 
ceive. He  was  the  first  to  appear ; 
but,  alas!  instead  of  the  bold  daring 
man,  insensible  to  shame,  and  soar- 
ing in  violence  above  those  about  him, 
one  whom  I  had  often  heard  bawl- 
ing heroics  almost  to  stunning,  Beau- 
mont now  entered  before  a  full  house, 
as  I  could  perceive  from  the  spangles 
on  his  dress,  trembling  violently !  He 
attempted  to  come  forward  but  dared 
not.  He  clung  to  the  side-wing,  and 
appeared  altogether  so  unlike  any 
thing  heroic,  that  had  the  personifi- 
cation been  by  any  one  but  my  hus- 
band, I  should  have  laughed  outright. 
Nevertheless,  you  might  have  heard 
a  pin  drop;  nothing  could  I  hear  but 
the  breathless  beating  of  my  heart. 
Low  as  the  first  ejaculations  of  Zan- 
ga  are  generally  uttered,  he  was  in- 
audible. The  audience  looked  at 
each  other ;  some  began  almost  to 
think  it  very  Jlne,  had  not  the  sly  looks 
of  the  more  knowing  soon  undeceived 
them.  The  people  now  clapped — he 
said  nothing,  the  prompter  only  was 
heard.  He  still  clung  to  the  wing, 
and  holding  his  robe  somewhat  like  a 
chambermaid  fearful  of  draggling 
her  tail.  His  toes  were  turned  inward. 
He  again  endeavoured  to  speak; 
it  was  but  an  effort,  and  he  left  the 
Vol.  II.  No.  X. 


stage  without  finishing  its  business. 
But  again  he  had  to  enter,  and  my 
terror  most  alarmingly  increased:  if 
he  was  before  inaudible,  he  was  now 
as  loud,  and  I  clearly  perceived,  that 
to  elevate  himself  to  a  proper  pitch, 
he  had  been  drinking:  indeed  he  was 
far  gone  in  inebriety.  The  audi- 
ence, who  paid  nothing  for  admittance, 
bore  this  pretty  well,  until,  finding 
that  he  not  only  forgot  himself,  but, 
disdaining  to  be  prompted,  put  in  the 
most  egregious  nonsense  instead  of 
the  author's  words,  they  began  in 
murmurs  to  abuse  him.  If  Beau- 
mont played  in  a  manner  to  disgust 
the  house,  another  debutant,  who 
this  night  came  forward  in  tragedy, 
enacted  so  ludicrously  as  to  convulse 
the  audience  with  laughter ;  a  laugh- 
ter which  they  equally  divided,though 
from  different  causes,  between  Don 
Alonzo  and  Zanga.  But  my  hus- 
band, little  dreaming  that  the  house 
would  dare  to  laugh  at  him,  actually 
joined  in  the  laugh  against  the  un- 
fortunate Alonzo,  while  his  own  act- 
ing appeared  equally  ludicrous.  This 
seeming  acknowledgment  of  his  own 
superior  merit  piqued  the  specta- 
tors and  disgusted  the  people:  lest, 
therefore,  he  should  not  rightly  un- 
derstand on  what  footing  he  now 
stood  with  them,  they  overwhelmed 
him  with  a  tremendous  storm  of  hiss^ 
ingr,  while  some  cried  out  "  Encore!" 
and  "  Well  done,  Zanga!"  He  now 
indeed  put  on  looks  becoming  of 
Zanga  himself,  but  they  were  direct- 
ed to  the  audience,  until  further  pro- 
voked by  a  blow  from  a  piece  of 
orange-peel,  he  jumped  from  the 
stage  in  his  full  costume,  and  dared 
any  one  to  the  combat.  Fortunately 
no  one  took  up  the  gauntlet,  and  he 
retired  for  the  night  amidst  the  great  - 
H  H 


228 


THE    WIFE    OF    A    GENIUS. 


est  confusion,  accompanied  by  the 
cries  of"  Shame !  shame  !'•'  throughout 
the  house. 

We  returned  home,  I  in  a  state  of 
despair,    scarcely   knowing    how    I 
walked,  until  his  assurances  that  all 
would    yet  be  well  kept   me  from 
sinking.     He  was  seemingly  content, 
for  he  had  borrowed   two  shillings 
from  a  friend,  and  at  the  end  of  two 
glasses  of  grog,  he  drew  such  a  pic- 
ture of  his  future  eminence  as  an  ac- 
tor, that,maugre  this  first  appearance, 
I  beheld  him  as  some  future  Kem- 
ble;   and  we  retired  to  rest  compa- 
ratively happy.     This  then  was  his 
next  scheme,  to  borrow  a  small  sum 
of  money  from  a  friend,  and  with  it 
join  some  itinerant  party  of  players, 
until  he  should  be  sufficiently  im- 
proved to  appear   on   the    London 
boards.    He  rose  the  following  morn- 
ing with  renovated  spirits,  got  five 
pounds  from  a  friend,  wrote  the  first 
act  of  a  comedy,  an  ode  on  tragedy, 
and  copied  out  several  parts  to  study. 
In  vain  I  requested  that  some  of  this 
ready  money  might  go  to  satisfy  the 
landlord ;  this  he  positively  refused. 
He  returned  from  a  walk  at  three 
o'clock  to  dinner;  but  he  was  laden 
with  purchases:  first,    there  was  e- 
nough  for   an   excellent  dinner,  to 
which  he  added  two  bottles  of  wine 
and  a  melon;  and,  lastly,  he  produc- 
ed a  brown  paper  parcel,  in  which 
were  a  wig  for  Lingo,  a  crown  dou- 
bled up  for  Richard  III.  and  a  black 
bonnet  and  feathers  for  the  King  of 
Scotland,   all  great  bargains.     He 
seemed  now  to  tread  on  air,  answer- 
ed me  in  the  speech  of  Hotspur  to 
his  wife,  and  the  following  morning 
set  out  for  a  company  performing  at 
Boston  in  Lincolnshire,  leaving  me , 
the  sum  of  twelve  shillings. 


Had  Beaumont's  perseverance, 
which  was  very  great,  been  directed 
to  important  effects,  he  might  have 
achieved  wonders ;  but  this  unhappily 
was  not  the  case,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  fulfilled  some  ridiculous  deter- 
mination, he  again  relapsed  into  un- 
settled habits.  Thus,  at  one  time, 
he  would  resolve  to  live  for  a  fort- 
night on  potatoes  or  herrings ;  at  the 
end  of  this  time  he  would  become  an 
habitual  drunkard,  spending  more  in 
a  day  than  he  had  saved  in  a  week. 
At  another  time  he  would  only  drink 
water :  this  plan  he  steadily  pursued 
for  a  time,  panegyrizing  this  simple 
and  healthy  beverage,  and  having  in 
a  moral  poem  disclaimed  those  who, 
unable  to  deny  themselves  luxuries, 
chose  to  cut  short  a  miserable  life  by 
repletion.  The  pellucid  and  heaven- 
ly gift  of  water  so  much  abused,  re- 
ceived in  this  poem  warm  praise ;  but 
no  bookseller  being  inclined  to  pub- 
lish it,  he  relaxed  into  inebriety.  At 
another  time  he  resolved  on  making 
his  own  clothes:  he  himself  cut  them 
out,  and  instructed  me  in  making 
them  up,  so  that  the  nicest  eye 
could  not  discover  the  difference  be- 
tween his  coat  and  one  made  by  a 
tailor.  Even  the  table  we  dined  oft* 
was  of  his  manufacture :  yet  after  be- 
ing domesticated  for  a  week  or  fort- 
night, becoming  in  turn  bricklayer, 
painter,  and  upholsterer,  he  would 
again  break  out,  and  if  credit  was  to 
be  had,  would  run  riot  for  a  month . 
To  say  how  many  sleepless  nights  I 
have  passed  weeping  on  my  bed, 
would  be  to  say  little.  Alas!  how 
many  sleepless  nights  have  I  not  pass- 
ed without  a  bed  to  lie  on!  and  hav- 
ing thrown  myself  on  the  ground,  I 
have  remained  listening  to  cries  caus- 
ed only  by  my  fears,  and  hoping  yet 


THE   WIFE   Otf   A   GENIUS. 


229 


dreading  to  see  one  who  might  at 
that  moment  be  expiring  in  wretch- 
edness. 

How  often  have  I  had  to  bear  the 
reproaches  of  landlords  to  whom  my 
husband  has  abandoned  me,  who, 
from  the  irregularity  of  his  visits, 
have  branded  me  with  the  name  of 
wanton,  and  him  with  that  of  swin- 
dler! At  these  times,  even  the  prattle 
of  my  child,  if  it  slept  not,  conveyed 
only  daggers  to  my  heart.  He  had 
indeed  before  he  left  persuaded  me 
to  become  a  candidate  for  Thespian 
honours,  and  to  please  him  I  made 
an  attempt  as  Floranthe;  but  used  as 
I  was  to  scenes  of  indelicacy  at  least, 
tliis  hot-bed  of  vice  disgusted  me, 
and  I  declared  I  would  never  again 
enter  Berwick-street  theatre. 

But  to  return.  Schooled  as  I  was 
in  disappointment,  the  importunities 
of  my  landlord  caused  me  to  look 
forward  with  something  like  hope 
for  a  letter  from  my  husband,  because 
I  had  no  one  to  rely  on  but  this  bro- 
ken reed.  Alas!  none  arrived  from 
him;  yet  a  letter  I  did  receive  from 
Boston,  informing  me  that  Beau- 
mont had  not  as  yet  appeared  on  the 
stage,  but  had  remained  idle  at  an 
inn  in  that  town,  not  only  until  he 
had  spent  the  little  money  he  carried 
with  him,  but  had  run  up  a  score, 
from  which  he  had  fled  no  one  knew 
whither,  without  a  penny. 

It  was  not  long  before  he  made  his 
appearance  again  in  town  without  a 
single  resource,  except  a  famous  idea 
which  he  informed  me  he  had  just 
picked  up  for  a  tragedy,  which  must 
take.  He  had  commenced  writing  it 
the  following  morning,  when  his  land- 
lord came  to  tell  him  that  he  was 
wanted  below.  My  ready  fears  guess- 
ed the  cause,  and  they  guessed  right- 
ly :  I   saw  him  depart  with  two  ill- 


looking  men.  My  sensations  were 
at  this  time  so  violent,  that  I  could 
not  even  ask  where  he  was  going ; 
but  on  the  following  morning  I  re- 
ceived a  note  from  him,  informing 
me  that  he  was  now  a  prisoner  for 
debt. 

The  affair  of  the  assault  in  Char- 
lotte-street turned  out  against  him, 
and  a  severe  fine  was  the  consequence : 
he  had  it  appears,  from  his  little  know- 
ledge of  the  law,  contrived  to  pro- 
crastinate the  day  of  payment:  there 
was  now  no  longer  any  flaw  by  which 
he  could  escape ;  but  the  50/.  which 
he  had  to  pay  might  just  as  well  have 
been  500/.  It  was  Sunday  morning 
when  I  repaired  to  a  prison  in  South- 
wark  to  visit  my  husband  for  the  first 
time  in  confinement.  Buried  alive 
as  I  had  been,  without  the  common 
necessaries  of  life,  for  months  in  a 
close  garret,  the  air  and  walk,  in 
spite  of  the  depression  of  my  spirits, 
much  refreshed  me.  The  bells  from 
the  different  steeples  were  calling  the 
quiet,  the  industrious,  and  orderly  to 
the  worship  of  their  God.  Every 
shop  indeed  was  shut,  but  the  appa- 
rent gloom  vanished  with  the  number 
of  cheerful  faces  which  I  encounter- 
ed. Hundreds  of  cherubs,  smiling, 
neat  and  clean,  were  pouring  out  in 
procession  from  the  different  charity- 
schools.  Sunk  as  I  was  in  distress,  I 
almost  envied  their  parents,  and  I 
thought  I  could  have  submitted  to  be- 
hold my  own  Laura  Adelaide  among 
them.  The  poor  child  also  who  ac- 
companied me  was  much  delighted 
with  their  appearance:  she  asked  me 
why  her  tippet  looked  not  so  white 
as  theirs ;  why  she  was  not  a  chari- 
ty-girl, to  have  such  nice  new  shoes 
as  they  had ;  with  many  other  ques- 
tions which  rent  my  heart.  My  spi- 
rits fled,  and  I  could  have  thrown 
Hh2 


zm 


THIS    WIFK    OF    A    GENIUS. 


myself  on  my  knees  at  the  first  church 
floor  I  came  to ;  but  the  call  of  my  now 
unhappy  husband  urged  me  forward. 
The  little  Adelaide  clung  to  me  with 
fear  as  each  surly  turnkey  drew  back 
the  rattling  bolts,  and  I  hurried  to 
his  scene  of  confinement. 

The  room  I  entered  was  dark  and 
dirty :  the  bars  of  an  old  grate  seem- 
ed gaping  for  coals:  an  old  three- 
legged  table,  a  chair,  and  a  bed  com- 
posed the  furniture.  On  the  chair  sat 
my  husband,  while  another  man  was 
sitting  on  a  tub  reversed.  On  the 
table  were  the  remains  of  a  pot  of 
porter,  broken  tobacco-pipes,  and  a 
liquor-measure,  while  these  worthies 
were  engaged  in  a  game  of  backgam- 
mon. Beaumont's  companion,  bear- 
ing in  his  face  the  appearance  of  a 
hoary  sinner,  was  too  much  engaged 
in  his  sport  to  heed  my  appearance. 
Beaumont  looked  squalid  and  dirty, 
but  on  a  shriek  from  Adelaide,  he 
broke  off  the  game  and  looked  up. 
Obdurate  indeed  must  be  that  heart 
which  does  not  in  confinement  wel- 
come the  face  it  once  loved.  Beau- 
mont struggled  with  some  remains  of 
tenderness,  which  the  presence  of  his 
companion  eventually  checked :  this 
man  partook  not  only  of  the  room, 
but  also  shared  his  bed.  I  wept  tears 
of  joy  and  sadness  as  Beaumont 
pressed  my  hand,  for  I  had  not  ex- 
perienced from  him  for  years  such 
tenderness;  but  what  a  heavy  debt 
of  love  did  this  kindness  pay,  and  all 
his  errors  seemed  forgotten  !  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  him  at  night,  but  not 
without  some  little  money  which  I 
had  borrowed;  and  on  my  return 
home,  after  giving  all  the  refresh- 
ment I  had  in  the  house  to  my  dear 
Adelaide,  I  retired  comparatively 
happy  to  my  wretched  pallet,  hun- 
gry enough,  but  yet  light-hearted. 


Through  my  exertions  with  Lord 
L.  he  consented  to  release  my  hus- 
band from  prison,  and  on  signs  of 
amendment  once  more  to  notice  him. 
But,  alas!  a  disorder,  which  this  con- 
finement had  augmented,  soon  after 
carried  him  off;  and  the  very  day  on 
which  he  was  to  be  buried,  Lord  L. 
his  patron,  was  carried  oft*  by  an  apo- 
plectic fit;  leaving  me  with  two  chil- 
dren, a  girl  and  a  boy,  without  any 
visible  way  of  maintaining  either. 
Soon  after  this  I  received  a  letter 
from  a  schoolfellow,  informing  me, 
that  she  had  married  a  glover  in  Wor- 
cester, and  offering  me  work  and  as- 
sistance. I  obeyed  her  summons 

Here  the  last  leaf  of  the  manu- 
script was  evidently  torn  by  much 
use;  and  I  am  therefore  obliged  to 
render  the  conclusion  by  the  follow- 
ing fac-simile : 

*  *  *  *  after  died  »  *  *  «  * 
I  myself  fell  *****  nervous 
fever — but  the  feelings  of  pride  are 
not  easily  ***** 

Here  the  MS.  broke  off.  The  in- 
ferences and  conclusion  are,  however, 
not  difficult  to  make  out.  That  the 
boy  1  encountered  was  her  son  is  I 
think  indisputable.  Of  Adelaide  her 
daughter  I  have  been  able  to  ob- 
tain no  other  information  than  that 
she  left  her  mother  for  London.  If 
she  be  yet  ignorant  of  the  death  of 
her  mother,  it  is  probably  of  little 
consequence  now  to  her,  as  I  have 
heard  that  she  went  against  her  mo- 
ther's wish  to  the  capital,  where  she 
probably  is  now  suffering  from  the 
imprudence  of  her  father.  She  also 
may  one  day  serve  to  point  a  moral 
and  adorn  a  tale,  like  that  of  her 
mother — a  tale,  alas !  too  true ! 

Hi  P  *  *  *  *. 


251 


VERSES   ON  THE  DEATH  OF  ROBERT  BLOOMFIELD, 

THE   SUFFOLK   POET. 
By   BERNARD    BARTON. 

Thou  shouldst  not  to  the  grave  descend 

Unmourn'd,  unhonour'd,  or  unsung; 
Could  harp  of  mine  record  thy  end, 

For  thee  that  rude  harp  should  be  strung, 
And  plaintive  sounds  as  ever  rung 

Should  all  its  simple  notes  employ, 
Lamenting  unto  old  and  young, 

The  bard  who  sang  "  The  Farmer's  Boy." 

Could  Eastern  Anglia  boast  a  lyre 

Like  that  which  gave  thee  modest  fame, 
How  justly  might  its  every  wire 

Thy  minstrel  honours  loud  proclaim  ; 
And  many  a  stream  of  humble  name, 

And  village-green,  and  common  wild, 
Should  witness  tears  that  knew  not  shame, 

By  Nature  won  for  Nature's  child. 

The  merry  "  Horkey's"  passing  cup 

Should  pause — when  that  sad  note  was  heard ; 
The  "  Widow"  turn  "  her  Hour-Glass"  up 

With  tenderest  feelings  newly  stirr'd; 
And  many  a  pity-waken'd  word, 

And  sighs  that  speak  when  language  fails, 
Should  prove  thy  simple  strains  preferr'd 

To  prouder  poet's  lofty  tales. 

Circling  the  "  Old  Oak  Table"  round, 

Whose  moral  worth  thy  measure  owns, 
Heroes  and  heroines  yet  are  found 

Like  "  Abner  and  the  Widow  Jones :" 
There  "  Gilbert  Meldrum's"  sterner  tones 

In  virtue's  cause  are  bold  and  free ; 
And  e'en  the  patient  suff'rer's  moans 

In  pain  and  sorrow  plead  for  thee. 

Nor  thus  beneath  the  straw-roofd  cot 

Alone— should  thoughts  of  thee  pervade 
Hearts  which  confess  thee  unforgot, 

On  heathy  hill,  in  grassy  glade ; 
In  many  a  spot  by  thee  array'd 

With  hues  of  thought,  with  fancy's  gleam, 
Thy  memory  lives  !— in  "  Euston's"  shade, 

By  "  Barnham  Water's"  shadeless  stream! 


232  VERSES   ON    THK    DEATH    OP    ROBERT    BLOOMFIKLD. 

And  long  may  guileless  hearts  preserve 

Thy  memory  and  its  tablets  be : 
While  Nature's  healthful  feelings  nerve       / 

The  arm  of  labour  toiling  free ; 
While  childhood's  innocence  and  glee 

With  green  old  age  enjoyment  share, 
*'  Richards"  and  "  Kates"  shall  tell  of  thee, 

M  Walters"  and  "  Janes"  thy  name  declare. 

On  themes  like  these,  if  yet  there  breath'd 

A  Doric  lay  so  sweet  as  thine, 
Might  artless  flowers  of  verse  be  wreath'd, 

Around  thy  modest  name  to  twine  ; 
And  though  nor  lute  nor  lyre  be  mine 

To  bid  thy  minstrel  honours  live, 
The  praise  my  numbers  can  assign, 

It  still  is  soothing  thus  to  give. 

There  needs,  in  truth,  no  lofty  lyre 

To  yield  thy  Muse  her  homage  due ; 
The  praise  her  loveliest  charms  inspire 

Should  be  as  artless,  simple  too  : 
Her  eulogist  should  keep  in  view 

Thy  meek  and  unassuming  worth. 
And  inspiration  should  renew 

At  springs  which  gave  thine  own  its  birth. 

Those  springs  may  boast  no  classic  name 

To  win  the  smile  of  letter'd  pride, 
Yet  is  their  noblest  charm  the  same 

As  that  by  Castaly  supplied. 
From  Aganippe's  chrystal  tide 

No  brighter,  fairer  waves  can  start, 
Than  Nature's  quiet  teachings  guide 

From  Feeling's  fountain  o'er  the  heart. 

Tis  to  the  heart  song's  noblest  power, 

Taste's  purest  precepts  must  refer ; 
And  Nature's  tact,  not  Art's  proud  dower, 

Remains  its  best  interpreter: 
He  who  shall  trust,  without  demur, 

What  his  own  better  feelings  teach, 
Although  unlearn'd,  shall  seldom  err, 

But  to  the  hearts  of  others  reach. 

It  is  not  quaint  and  local  terms 

Besprinkled  o'er  thy  rustic  lay, 
Though  well  such  dialect  confirms 

Its  power  unletter'd  minds  to  sway : 


VURSCS   ON    THE    DEATH    OF    ROBERT    BLOOMFIELD.  233 

For  'tis  not  these  that  most  display 

Thy  sweetest  charms,  thy  gentlest  thrall — 
Words,  phrases,  fashions  pass  away, 

But  truth  and  nature  live  through  all. 

These,  these  have  given  thy  rustic  lyre 

Its  truest  and  its  tenderest  spell ; 
These  amid  Britain's  tuneful  choir 

Shall  give  thy  honour'd  name  to  dwell ; 
And  when  death's  shadowy  curtain  fell 

Upon  thy  toilsome  earthly  lot, 
With  grateful  joy  thy  heart  might  swell 

To  feel  that  these  reproach'd  thee  not : 

To  feel  that  thou  hadst  not  incurr'd 

The  deep  compunction,  hitter  shame, 
Of  prostituting  gifts  conferr'd 

To  strengthen  Virtue's  hallow'd  claim. 
How  much  more  glorious  is  the  name, 

The  humble  name  which  thou  hast  won, 
Than — "  damn'd  with  everlasting  fame," 

To  be  for  fame  itself  undone ! 

Better  and  nobler  was  thy  choice 

To  be  the  bard  of  simple  swains ; 
In  all  their  pleasures  to  rejoice, 

And  sooth  with  sympathy  their  pains  ; 
To  paint  with  feeling  in  thy  strains 

The  themes  their  thoughts  and  tongues  discuss, 
And  be,  though  free  from  classic  chains, 

Our  own  more  chaste  Theocritus. 

For  this  should  Suffolk  proudly  own 

Her  grateful  and  her  lasting  debt ; 
How  much  more  proudly — had  she  known 

That  pining  care  and  keen  regret, 
Thoughts  which  the  fever'd  spirits  fret, 

And  slow  disease,  'twas  thine  to  bear; 
And,  ere  thy  sun  of  life  was  set, 

Had  won  her  poet's  grateful  prayer ! 

'Tis  now  too  late  !  the  scene  is  clos'd, 

Thy  conflicts  borne,  thy  trials  o'er, 
And  in  the  peaceful  grave  repos'd 

That  frame  which  pain  shall  rack  no  more. 
Peace  to  the  bard  whose  artless  store 

Was  spread  for  Nature's  humblest  child  ; 
Whose  song,  well  meet  for  peasant  lore, 

Was  lowly,  simple,  undenTd ! 


234 


SKETCHES  OP  TYROL   AND   THE   TYUOLESE. 


Yet  long  may  guileless  hearts  preserve 

The  memory  of  thy  verse  and  thee, 
While  Nature's  healthful  feelings  nerve 

The  arm  of  labour  toiling  free ; 
While  Suffolk  peasantry  may  be 

Such  as  thy  sweetest  tales  make  known, 
By  cottage-hearth,  by  greenwood  tree, 

Be  Bloomfield  call'd  with  pride — their  own! 


SKETCHES  OF  TYROL  AND  THE  TYUOLESE. 

Extract  of  a  Letter  from  a  Gentleman  resident  in  Switzerland. 


Every  Briton,  unless  Iris  mind  has 
been  fatally  warped  by  prejudice, 
or  perverted  by  some  selfish  aim, 
must  wish  all  his  fellow-beings  to 
participate  in  the  blessings  of  liberty; 
so  far,  that  the  meanest  peasant  shall 
be  secured  in  his  person  and  pro- 
perty equally  with  the  patrician  or- 
ders ;  and  that  full  toleration  on  all 
religious  opinions  shall  allow  to  all 
unmolested  freedom  of  conscience. 
With  these  views  I  am  grieved  to 
find  that  the  Portuguese  have  de- 
serted their  own  most  valuable  in- 
terests, and  that  the  Spaniards  are 
not  so  unanimous  as  their  great  cause 
deserves  and  requires.  Would  to 
God  that  the  Iberian  leaders  could 
have  heard  and  felt  with  me  last 
June  when  I  made  a  rambling  excur- 
sion to  the  Tyrol!  No  pilgrim  to 
the  Caaba  of  Mecca  has  travelled 
with  more  enthusiastic  fervour  than 
I  cherished  in  my  heart,  while,  as  a 
native  of  the  sanctuary  of  freedom, 
I  explored  the  scenes  where  the 
brave  Tyrolese  defended  their  rights 
against  the  armies  of  France;  and 
by  a  fortunate  coincidence  I  met  with 
a  gentleman  of  Tyrol,  and  an  officer, 
who  had  served  under  the  Duke  of 
Dantzic  against  those  intrepid  and 
persevering  mountaineers. 

You  may  suppose  I  should  not  be 
in  the  region  of  Stein  castle  without 


surveying  a  relic  of  feudal  oppres- 
sion, so  celebrated  in  horrific  tradi- 
tion. My  travelling  companion  and 
I  were  led  through  vaults  and  passa- 
ges where  it  is  said  the  ferocious  free- 
booter, Heinz  de  Stein,  immured  the 
victims  of  his  brutal  passion  for  beau- 
ty, and  where  he  successively  de- 
stroyed the  unhappy  females  whom 
his  power  devoted  to  become  part- 
ners in  voluptuous  crime,  and  to 
death  when  they  could  no  longer 
gratify  his  fickle  inclinations.  It  is 
said  he  also  compelled  the  wretched 
mothers  to  suffocate  the  offspring  of 
their  dishonour  whenever  it  was  ush- 
ered to  visible  existence  ;  but  that 
one  young  woman  found  means  to 
escape  before  her  delivery,  and  bore 
a  son  on  the  skirts  of  a  Bavarian 
forest.  She  laid  him  at  the  door  of 
a  farmer's  house,  and  concealed  her- 
self till  she  ascertained  that  her  in- 
fant was  in  safe  hands.  She  then 
passed  secretly  to  Swabia,  and  re- 
turned at  the  end  of  a  year  without 
being  suspected  as  the  mother  of 
that  foundling  adopted  by  the  farmer 
and  his  wife,  who  had  no  children 
of  their  own.  She  had  taken  the 
small-pox  in  Swabia,  and  was  so 
changed,  that  even  Heinz  de  Stein 
could  not  have  recognised  her.  She 
hired  herself  as  a  servant  to  the  far- 
mer, and  had  the  happiness  to  see 


SKETCHES   OF   TYROL    AND   THE   TYItOLESF. 


235 


her  boy  grow  up  distinguished  for 
noble  and  amiable  dispositions,  and 
for  the  most  heroic  valour  and  per- 
sonal strength.  He  entered  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Duke  of  Bavaria,  and  un- 
conscious that  Heinz  de  Stein  was 
his  father,  often  declared,  that  his 
soul  was  on  fire  to  raze  to  the  foun- 
dation the  castle  of  Stein,  which  con- 
stituted a  stronghold  for  the  most 
execrable  monster  of  atrocity.  Un- 
derneath this  fabric  Heinz  had  or- 
dered two  subterranean  passages  to 
be  excavated,  extending  to  Trosburg 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  to 
Denglein,  with  an  outlet  to  a  forest, 
where  his  horde  of  accomplices  had 
their  retreats  in  caverns  or  impene- 
trable recesses  of  the  wood,  and 
whence  they  issued  in  numerous 
bands  to  commit  the  most  cruel  de- 
vastations. The  workmen  who  erect- 
ed the  castle  and  formed  the  exca- 
vations were  suddenly  crushed  to 
death  with  engines  invented  by  their 
demoniacal  employer.  This  detesta- 
ble villany  he  believed  would  secure 
him  from  having  his  hidden  vaults 
made  known ;  but  the  righteous  judg- 
ment of  God  he  could  not  elude. 
His  son  was  a  conspicuous  warrior 
in  the  Bavarian  army.  Preferment 
rewarded  his  achievements,  and  he 
was  betrothed  to  a  beautiful  young 
lady,  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman. 
The  fame  of  her  charms  had  inflam- 
ed the  lawless  passions  of  the  old 
knight  of  Stein  castle.  His  son  be- 
ing informed  that  Heinz  had  laid  a 
plot  to  seize  his  bride,  collected  some 
friends  and  soldiers,  and  awaited  to 
give  him  a  warm  reception.  He  was 
made  prisoner,  and  delivered  to  the 
Princes  of  Salzburg  and  Bavaria. 
He  was  doomed  to  death,  and  it  was 
then  that  the  mother  of  his  son  rush- 
VoL  II.  No.  A. 


i  ed  into  the  august  assembly  with 
|  dishevelled  locks,  avowed  her  con- 
\  sanguinity  to  the  young  hero,  and 
implored  that  the  life  of  his  father 
might  be  spared.  His  crimes  were 
too  manifold  and  enormous  to  allow 
any  claim  for  mercy.  He  suffered 
the  penalty  of  the  law;  but  the  castle 
and  his  vast  domains  were  bestowed 
on  his  son. 

My  friend  and  I  were  returning 
from  the  subterranean  vaults  of  Stein 
castle,  when  we  perceived  in  the 
sombre  distance  two  objects  follow- 
ing the  quivering  torches  of  native 
guides.  We  met  and  entered  into 
conversation,  and  being  mutually 
pleased,  retraced  with  them  the  wind- 
ing passages.  The  Tyrolese  gen- 
tleman told  us  that  tradition  reports 
those  excavations  to  have  been  ori- 
ginally so  lofty,  that  Heinz  de  Stein 
and  his  banditti  could  gallop  through 
them  on  their  war-sieeds ;  and  this  is 
by  no  means  incredible.  Our  in- 
formant gave  us  a  hospitable  invita- 
tion to  his  house,  where  we  spent  se- 
veral days  in  a  very  agreeable  inter- 
course, straying  through  more  than 
classic  scenes — the  hallowed  eminen- 
ces and  valleys,  where  the  most  ex- 
alted spirit  of  freedom  animated  a 
whole  people  to  deeds  of  heroism 
never  surpassed  in  the  annals  of  man- 
kind. The  conversation  of  our  new 
acquaintance  furnished  many  instan- 
ces of  this  spirit. 

Where  cliffs,  almost  perpendicu- 
lar, separate  the  Tyrol  from  Salz- 
burg, the  sides  and  base  of  the  moun- 
tains are  clothed  with  luxuriant  woods, 
and  branches  of  a  lake  penetrate 
their  verdant  recesses.  Rich  fields 
and  smiling  orchards  surround  the 
white  cottages  that  enliven  the  mar- 
gin of  this  still  expanse,  whose  wa- 
I  i 


236 


SKETCHES    OV    TYROL    AND   THE    TYKOLESK. 


ters  are  sheltered  by  towering  larches 
and  a  barrier  of  rocks. 

"  On  this  spot,"  said  the  French 
officer,  "  I  first  saw  the  Tyrolese  pa- 
triots, like  their  mountain-streams, 
rolling  on  with  increasing  force  to 
the  plains.  Their  motley  appearance 
was  not  calculated  to  strike  the  ima- 
gination of  regular  troops ;  but  we 
soon  felt  that  the  dress  or  even  the 
accoutrements  of  a  soldier  are  not 
the  most  formidable  materiel  of  war- 
fare." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Tyrolese  gen- 
tleman, "  we  had  neither  military 
equipment,  military  tactics,  nor  ex- 
perience. The  young  and  the  old, 
the  wealthy  and  the  poor,  were  em- 
bodied, as  if  to  exhibit  the  levelling 
principle  to  the  late  partisans  of  de- 
mocracy. Clad  in  the  picturesque 
garb  of  mountaineers,  the  peasants 
had  no  other  feature  of  uniformity, 
except  in  presenting  to  view  a  rifle 
or  fowling-piece.  Many  of  our  aged 
volunteers  had  the  halberts  used  in 
times  when  warriors  were  cased  in 
armour,  and  with  which  the  Swiss 
had  resisted  the  chivalry  of  Charles 
the  Bold,  and  the  same  which  three 
centuries  since  were  furiously  wielded 
in  the  wars  between  the  Swiss  and 
Tyrolese.  We  were  at  matin  pray- 
ers when  the  most  advanced  of  our 
men  perceived  the  sun  glittering-  up- 
on a  long  line  of  hostile  bayonets; 
and  columns  of  infantry  and  cavalry 
were  soon  descried  beginning  to  as- 
cend the  way  where  their  scouts  di- 
rected them  to  us.  A  dead  silence 
prevailed  among  our  little  bands, 
and  we  could  distinctly  hear  the  mea- 
sured tread  of  our  enemies,  which, 
more  than  the  long  extent  of  their 
files,  warned  us  of  the  unequal  com- 
bat we  must  sustain.  The  Tyrolese 
had  the  most  express  orders  to  con- 


ceal themselves;  the  tirailleurs  of 
the  French  army  could  see  only  a 
dark  impervious  forest  covering  both 
sides  of  the  road.  They  had  cer- 
tain information  of  our  vicinity ;  but 
where  we  lay,  or  the  exact  amount 
of  our  numbers,  they  had  not  learned. 
They,  however,  fearlessly  toiled  up 
a  steep  acclivity  beneath  the  scorch- 
ing rays  of  the  horizontal  sun,  dart- 
ing his  fires  with  unclouded  fervour. 
The  Tyrolese,  accustomed  from  in- 
fancy to  lie  in  ambush  for  game,  and 
to  direct  their  shot  with  unerring 
precision,  sprung  up  with  wild  in- 
stantaneous shouts  upon  the  foe." 

Here  the  Tyrolese  speaker  paused, 
and  my  friend,  addressing  himself  to 
the  French  officer,  inquired  if  the 
loss  of  the  French  battalions  on  that 
day  had  not  been  exaggerated  by 
fame.  The  officer  assured  him  that 
in  a  short  time  eighteen  thousand 
men  were  killed  or  wounded ;  and 
though  with  their  accustomed  ardour 
they  renewed  the  fight,  the  Tyrolese 
marksmen,  from  their  inaccessible 
heights,  poured  on  them  a  fire  so 
terrible,  that  they  were  compelled  to 
draw  off  their  squadrons. 

"  Our  unacquaintance  with  the  art 
of  war,"  said  the  Tyrolese,  "  frus- 
trated our  victory.  We  attended  to 
hear  mass,  leaving  some  Austrians  to 
guard  the  defile:  these  were  negli- 
gent, and  the  French,  with  soldier- 
like vigilance,  observed  the  opportu- 
nity ;  they  established  themselves  on 
the  heights,  and  the  whole  valley  of 
the  Inn  was  occupied  by  our  adver- 
saries. The  Austrians  abandoned 
us  to  our  own  resources,  and  in  that 
dreadful  emergency  nothing  but  cou- 
rage remained  to  us.  Speckbacher 
and  Hofer,  our  two  leaders,  retired 
to  their  respective  valleys,  to  rekindle 
the    enthusiasm  of   the  peasantry. 


SKKTCIIBS    OF    TYROL    AND    TJIE    TYltOLBSE. 


237 


Speckbacher  undertook  the  perilous 
duty  of  conveying  intelligence.  Si- 
mon Leckner  and  George  Zoppel 
joined  him  in  the  attempt  to  pene- 
trate that  part  of  the  valley  which 
seemed  least  anxiously  guarded  by 
the  French.  But  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  while  they  were  cautiously 
treading  through  rocks  and  under- 
wood, they  came  upon  a  wakeful  de- 
tachment of  Bavarians,  consisting  of 
two  troops  of  dragoons.  Our  ad- 
venturers had,  however,  gone  too 
far  to  recede.  The  Bavarians  leaned 
on  their  arms  beside  a  blazing  fire, 
and  their  horses,  ready  for  action, 
stood  without  the  circle.  Speck- 
bacher,  Zoppel,  and  Leckner  levelled 
their  pieces,  and  reloaded  during  the 
confusion  of  this  unexpected  attack ; 
quickly  mounting  the  crags,  they  fired 
again,  and  concealed  themselves  be- 
fore the  smallness  of  their  number 
could  be  known.  The  Bavarians 
fled  in  all  directions,  supposing  them- 
selves beset  by  large  bodies  of  the 
peasantry ;  and  before  dawn  our  three 
enterprizing  leaders  joined  the  out- 
posts of  their  countrymen  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Inn." 

The  Tyrolese,  with  the  character- 
istic delicacy  of  a  brave  mind  and 
hospitable  entertainer,  rather  de- 
clined expatiating  upon  the  defeats 
his  countrymen  had  given  their  ene- 
mies; but  the  Frenchman  would  not 
be  outdone  in  this  generous  forbear- 
ance. He  several  times  supplied 
particulars  the  former  narrator  would 
have  suppressed ;  and  I  was  therefore 
at  liberty  to  say,  that  so  far  as  I  re- 
collected the  history  of  events,  the 
conflict  of  the  29th  May,  1 809,  was  the 
most  desperate  of  any  in  which  the 
Tyrolese  and  French  were  engaged. 

"  It  was  indeed!"  responded  the 
French  officer,  "  and  I  should  be 


glad  to  hear  our  host  on  the  sub- 
ject." 

"  I  shall  tell  you  so  far  as  I  re- 
member," answered  the  Tyrolese; 
"  and  I  must  beg  you  will  correct 
my  version  of  the  details,  should  you 
find  it  necessary." 

"  Never  fear  that  I  shall  pass  one 
error,"  said  the  officer  of  France ; 
"  but  hitherto  I  have  only  had  to  help 
you  in  doing  justice  to  your  own 
countrymen.  Pray  go  on,  and  do 
not  forget  that  I  listen  to  you  divest- 
ed of  national  prejudices." 

The  Tyrolese  thus  proceeded : 
"  The  ravines  of  mount  Isel  were  cho- 
sen by  our  leaders,  and  among  those 
wooded  ascents  of  perfect  beauty 
Hofer  collected  his  forces.  The  whole 
male  population  of  the  southern  and 
eastern  valleys  was  attended  not  on- 
ly by  young  boys,  but  by  women, 
who  boldly  took  a  part  in  the  battle 
which  ensued.  The  French  prison- 
ers supposed  that  it  was  in  derision 
they  were  guarded  by  women ;  but 
the  true  reason  was,  that  the  men 
were  engrossed  in  meeting  the  front 
of  the  combat.  On  this  memorable 
day,  sons  mounted  the  breaches  made 
by  the  French  in  their  field-works  of 
felled  trees ;  they  mounted  to  defy 
death  in  the  breaches  their  dying 
fathers  could  no  longer  defend ;  and 
while  cut  to  the  heart  by  the  loss  of 
those  most  dear  to  them,  they  man- 
fully renewed  the  engagement.  Im- 
mediately in  the  rear  were  stationed 
the  wives,  daughters,  and  sisters  of 
the  combatants,  prepared  to  carry 
off  and  relieve  the  wounded,  to  ho- 
nour with  pious  tears  the  dead,  and 
to  animate  the  survivors.  These  he- 
roines performed  sepulchral  rites  for 
the  slain ;  and  they  still  strew  flowers 
on  the  graves  of  those  who  died  for 
their  country.  The  whole  valley  of 
I  i  2 


2.33 


SKETCHES   OF   TYROL   AND   THE   TYllOLI.SE 


the  Inn,  and  as  far  as  the  fortress  of 
Kuffstein,  was  regained  by  the  Ty- 
rolese ;  and  they  were  on  the  point 
of  bringing  their  desperate  struggle 
to  a  favourable  issue,  when  the  battle 
of  Wagram,  and  the  armistice  be- 
tween France  and  Austria,  brought 
on  them  an  overpowering  assault  from 
the  Duke  of  Dantzic.  The  patriots 
took  refuge  in  the  fastnesses  adjacent 
to  mount  Brenner.  Hofer  retired 
some  time  to  religious  solitude,  where 
his  spirit,  imbued  with  the  enthusi- 
asm of  a  saint  and  a  hero,  was  sub- 
limated for  the  deeds  of  valour  which 
terminated  his  career  within  the  walls 
of  Mantua.  When  Hofer  and  the 
other  leaders  of  our  enterprize  emerg- 
ed from  their  retreat,  they  found  the 
first  ascents  from  Inspruck  had  been 
occupied  by  the  French,  and  the  out- 
posts of  the  contending  parties  were 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  torrent  of 
Estiac.  Steep  rocks,  fringed  by 
brushwood,  rose  on  the  other  side, 
which  the  Tyrolese  determined  to 
maintain.  From  the  rocks  they  kept 
up  an  irregular  fire  on  the  French  in- 
fantry, which  endeavoured  to  make 
their  way  through  the  defile." 

"  Allow  me  to  add,"  said  the 
French  officer,  "  that  so  great  was 
the  slaughter  caused  by  the  irregular 
fire  of  the  Tyrolese,  that  the  path 
was  actually  blocked  up  by  heaps  of 
the  slain.  At  this  terrible  crisis,  an 
officer  of  the  Bavarian  cavalry  vo- 
lunteered to  gallop  over  the  bridge 
with  his  squadron.  The  Tyrolese 
set  fire  to  the  bridge,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  flames  caught  the  beams 
of  fir  by  which  it  was  supported. 
The  undaunted  horseman  pressed 
forward  with  astonishing  effort.  Hav- 
ing spurred  his  charger  over  piles  of 
dead  bodies,  he  darted  into  the  midst 
of  the  blazing  columns  of  fire  rising 


from  the  bridge:  the  eyes  of  both  ar- 
mies were  riveted  to  his  progress; 
the  hoofs  of  the  horse  had  just  touch- 
ed the  opposite  rocks,  when  the  burn- 
ing rafters  gave  way,  and  the  noble 
animal,  with  his  intrepid  rider,  was 
precipitated  from  an  immense  height 
into  the  flood.  The  firing  had  been 
suspended  as  by  mutual  consent,  un- 
til a  heavy  splash  announced  the  la- 
mented fate  of  the  interesting  horse- 
man, and  a  shout  of  joy  from  the 
Tyrolese  army  proclaimed  that  the 
French  were  effectually  stopped  from 
advancing." 

"  Your  advance  was  retarded  but 
for  fifty  hours,"  said  the  Tyrolese. 
"  You  turned  our  position  with  the 
invincible  perseverance  and  skill  of 
veterans  in  danger  or  difficulty.  We 
retired  to  the  higher  ascents  of  mount 
Brenner;  but  the  delay  of  two  days 
gave  time  for  the  peasantry  from  dis- 
tant parts  to  join  us.  Hofer  and 
Speckbacher,  convinced  that  the  fate 
of  their  country  hung  upon  the  event 
of  an  approaching  fight,  in  brief  but 
eloquent  and  appropriate  harangues, 
endeavoured  to  transfuse  their  own 
fervid  zeal  into  the  souls  of  their 
companions  in  arms.  They  had  the 
exalted  satisfaction  of  finding  every 
individual  resolute  to  encounter  all 
hardships,  peril,  or  extremity,  and  to 
sell  their  lives  as  dearly  as  possible. 
Before  these  brave  men  took  their 
allotted  stations,  they  bade  each  other 
farewell,  as  though  their  last  hour 
impended ;  and,  like  the  Spartans  at 
Thermopylae,  thought  only  of  meet- 
ing in  a  better  world :  but  the  near 
prospect  of  death  only  served  to  sti- 
mulate their  courage.  At  daybreak, 
the  French  pushed  forward  a  large 
column  of  their  soldiers  supported 
by  artillery.  The  Tyrolese  received 
them  with  a  rolling  fire,  and  thev  lost 


SKETCHES    OF    TYROL    AND    THE    TYI10LESE. 


239 


a  great  number  of  men  in  advancing 

upon  the  old  tower  chosen  by  the 
patriots  as  the  centre  of  their  posi- 
tion. Each  column  mowed  down  was 
replaced  by  the  French,  and  they 
gradually  gain^L*rround ;  while  the 
Tyrolese,  sensible^that  this  position 
was  of  the  last  importance,  vigorous- 
ly resisted  and  withstood  the  attack. 
So  stubborn  was  their  defence,  that 
the  French  were  obliged  literally  to 
cut  them  down  in  the  posts  they  main- 
tained. Even  in  the  last  agonies,  this 
stern  and  indomitable  valour  was  not 
abated.  Disabled  from  using  their 
weapons,  and  weltering  in  their  gore, 
they  clung,  even  with  their  teeth,  to 
the  wheels  of  the  cannons  as  they 
lay  prostrate  never  to  rise,  and  they 
relinquished  not  the  desperate  hold 
until  death  relaxed  their  sinews.  Pe- 
ter Landsher,  the  parish  priest  of 
Weissenthal,  commanded  at  this  im- 
portant point.  He  knew  that  Hofer 
had  placed  a  column  of  peasantry  in 
the  rear  of  the  French  army,  and 
this  reserve  had  instructions  to  de- 
scend at  twelve  o'clock  on  the  rear  of 
the  enemy.  It  was  now  past  eleven, 
and  no  symptoms  of  these  troops  ap- 
peared on  the  ridge  of  the  mountains ; 
while  the  French,  notwithstanding 
the  unyielding  opposition  of  the  pa- 
triots, had  penetrated  to  the  very  foot 
of  the  tower  which  our  heroic  priest 
defended.  The  first  discharge  of  ar- 
tillery laid  the  tottering  walls  in  ruins; 
the  Bavarians  were  exerting  all  their 
power  to  rush  in,  when  reanimating 
shouts  announced  to  us  the  columns 
destined  to  fall  upon  the  rear  of  the 
enemy.  The  firing  ceased  on  both 
sides  for  a  moment,  each  party  being 
impatient  to  discover  the  cause  of 
those  tumultuous  sounds,  and  as  the 
smoke  cleared  away,  the  Tyrolese 
beheld  their  countrymen  in  great 
force    occupying    the    vast    upper 


heights,  and  the  broad  banner  of 
Austria  waving  on  the  snowy  peaks 
that  inclose  the  valley  on  its  western 
side." 

Here  the  Tyrolese  paused,  and  the 
French  officer  took  up  the  recital, 
saying,  "  Since  you  leave  me  to  con- 
fess our  defeat,  I  shall  plainly  own, 
that  we  were  compelled  to  retire; 
and  at  the  earnest  entreaty  of  his  staff 
and  of  all  our  officers,  the  Duke  of 
Dantzic  marched  on  foot  in  the  earb 
of  a  private  soldier,  as  the  only  chance 
of  escape  from  the  unerring  aim  of 
the  Tyrolese  marksmen.  We  were 
again  attacked  by  the  fearless  pea- 
santry on  the  12th  August,  and  after 
an  obstinate  and  sanguinary  contest, 
victory  again  declared  for  the  Tyro- 
lese." 

"  Our  victory  was  dearly  purchas- 
ed and  transient,"  resumed  the  Ty- 
rolese. "  The  wives,  daughters,  and 
sisters  of  the  peasants  fought  and  fell 
with  unconquerable  valour.  But 
when  the  cold  season  forced  us  to 
descend  from  the  mountains,  the 
overwhelming  superiority  of  numbers 
and  artillery  possessed  by  the  French 
left  us  no  resource.  Our  habitations 
and  our  fields  had  been  desolated, 
our  population  reduced;  yet  while  a 
shadow  of  hope  remained,  fresh  le- 
vies of  eager  volunteers  replaced  their 
countrymen,  who  were  swept  away  by 
the  triumphant  bayonets  of  France." 

You  will  admire  the  candour  with 
which  these  gentlemen  discussed 
events  profoundly  interesting  to  both. 
For  my  part,  on  reading  over  the 
facts  I  have  committed  to  paper,  I 
wish  they  could  be  transmitted  to  the 
hands  and  engraven  on  the  hearts  of 
all  who  are  fighting,  or  are  profes- 
sionally destined  to  fight,  the  battles 
of  their  country. 

Pup  Patiua. 


240 


1      ANECDOTES,  &c. 
HISTORICAL,  LITERARY,  AND  PERSONAL. 


MELANCHOLY    MISTAKES. 

A  tew  years  ago,  afire  took  place 
in  Whitechapel,  in  some  houses  prin- 
cipally occupied  by  lodgers.  So  ra- 
pid were  the  flames,  that  it  was  with 
the  utmost  difficulty  that  the  wretch- 
ed inhabitants  could  be  rescued.  A 
poor  woman,  with  a  large  family,  who 
had  just  escaped,  was  kneeling,  with 
her  children  around  her,  to  return 
God  thanks  for  their  preservation, 
when  she  found  that  her  youngest 
child,  an  infant,  was  still  missing. 
With  a  courage  and  desperationwhich 
maternal  affection,  heightened  by  de- 
spair, alone  could  have  prompted, 
she  flew,  half  naked  as  she  was, 
up  the  blazing  staircase,  into  the 
room,  snatched  the  babe  from  the 
cradle,  and  bore  it  in  triumph  to  her 
family  group;  a  triumph,  alas!  short- 
lived, for  the  infant  was  not  her's. 
Misled  by  the  smoke  which  filled  the  \ 
building,  she  had  entered  a  wrong  ! 
apartment,  and  rescued  the  child  of 
one  of  her  neighbours  instead  of  j 
her  own.  She  hastened  back,  but 
by  this  time  the  whole  building  had 
fallen  in,  when  she  sunk  senseless  on 
the  ground,  and  died  in  a  few  hours. 

A  somewhat  similar,  though  not 
so  distressing,  event,  occurred  dur- 
ing the  rejoicings  at  Paris  on  the 
marriage  festivities  of  the  Dauphin, 
afterwards  the  unfortunate  Louis 
XVI.  In  the  Place  Louis  XV.  there 
were  very  brilliant  fireworks  pre- 
pared ;  but  by  some  accident  the  scaf- 
folding prepared  for  them  took  fire:  j 
the  rush  of  the  crowd  and  the  crash 
of  coaches  was  such,  that  several 
persons  were  trampled  to  death  un- 
der the  horses'  feet,  and  others  were 


killed  by  the  pressure.  One  man, 
of  the  name  of  Pierre  Dubois,  who 
went  to  see  the  promised  amusements, 
took  with  him  a  young  woman,  to 
whom  he  was  next  day  to  have  been 
married.  When  the  disaster  of  the 
scaffolds  caused  every  person  to  seek 
his  safety  in  immediate  escape,  Pierre 
and  his  mistress  hastened  from  the 
fatal  scene,  and  being  strong  and 
athletic,  he  was  enabled  for  some 
time  to  protect  her  from  the  imme- 
diate pressure  of  the  crowd ;  but  the 
danger  and  the  terror  increased,  and 
she  exclaimed,  "  Oh !  I  am  falling,  I 
can  go  no  farther!" — "  Courage !" 
cried  the  lover,  "  I  can  still  save  thee, 
if  thou  wilt  get  upon  my  shoulders." 
He  soon  found  that  his  shoulders 
had  received  their  burthen,  and  ani- 
mated by  new  courage,  he  forced  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  and  reach- 
ing a  place  of  safety,  set  down  his 
precious  burthen,  expecting,  in  the 
smile  that  would  greet  him,  an  ample 
recompence  for  all  his  toil.  Half 
intoxicated  with  joy  at  having  res- 
cued his  beloved,  he  turned  round 
to  receive  her  embrace,  when,  alas ! 
he  found  that  it  was  a  different  per- 
son, who  had  taken  advantage  of  his 
recommendation,  and  that  his  own 
Henrietta  had  been  left  to  perish  in 
the  crowd ! 


THE    DUCHESS    DE     BERRY    AND    HER 
CHILDREN. 

Very  early  in  the  pregnancy  of 
the  duchess,  she  declared  herself 
certain  of  having  a  boy.  St.  Louis 
she  said  had  appeared  to  her,  hold- 
ing in  his  arms  an  infant  crowned, 
whom  he  presented  to  her  as  her  son. 


ANECDOTES,    &C.  HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL.         ^41 


Her  father-in-law,  Monsieur,   seeing  j 
that  this  idea  took  complete  hold  of 
her  imagination,  and  fearing  that  a  | 
disappointment  might  produce  fatal 
effects,  strove  to  persuade  her  that ; 
it  was  a  dream,  and  that  of  course  I 
no  reliance  ought  to  be  placed  upon 
it.  His  arguments  had  no  effect  upon  ; 
her  mind;  and   one  day  when  she 
thought  that  he  had  urged  them  too  j 
far,  she  said  to  him  with  great  ear- 
nestness,  "  Father,   I  was  no  more 
dreaming  than  I  am  now:  I  saw  St. 
Louis  as  plain  as  I  now  see  and  hear 
you ;  and  I  hope  you  will  allow  that 
he  knows  hetter  than  you  do  what 
is  to  happen."     Monsieur  laughed 
with  his  usual  good-nature    at  this 
sally,  which  the  duchess  did  not  fail 
to  remind  him  of  when  the  event  had 
justified  her  belief  in  the  saint's  pre- 
diction.    The  little  prince,  so  much 
an  object  of  interest  to  the  royalist 
part  of  the  nation,    is  a  fine  stout 
healthy   boy,   extremely    fair,    with 
clear  blue  eyes  and  a  lively  intelli- 
gent look;  he  appears  much  delight- 
ed with  the  notice  which  people  take 
of  him  in  his  airings,   and  returns  it 
by  bowing  and  kissing  his  hand.  He 
is  very  fond  of  the  national  guard, 
and  appears  already  to  enjoy  the  idea 
of  being  a  soldier.     Happening  to 
fall  and  hurt  himself  a  few  days  ago, 
he  began  to  cry  bitterly,  and  could 
not  be  pacified  by  his  attendants. 
"  What !"  said  his  mother  to  him, 
"  you  cry  for  such  a  trifle,  and  you 
expect  to  be  a  soldier?  Fie!  you  will 
never  be  fit  to  fight."     The  little  fel- 
low, who  was  in  the  midst  of  a  roar, 
stopped  in  an  instant.     In  speaking 
one  day  to  a  lady  he  used  the  word 
wicked.    "  Do  you  know,"   said  she 
to  him,  "  who  the  wicked  are?" — 
"  Oh !  yes,"  replied  he ;  "  the  wicked 
are  those  that  make  God  angry,  that 


good  God,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
sky,  "  who  lives  up  there,  where  my 
father  is." 

The  little  princess,  Mademoiselle, 
had  been  reading  the  fable  of  the 
fox,  who  cajoled  a  crow  out  of  a 
piece  of  cheese  by  his  compliments. 
She  chanced  soon  after  to  be  with 
her  mother  when  one  of  the  cour- 
tiers came  to  pay  the  duchess  a  vi- 
sit, and  began  to  compliment  her  in 
a  very  extravagant  style.  The  little 
girl  listened  for  some  time  very  at- 
tentively; at  last  drawing  near  her 
mother,  she  said  in  an  under  voice, 
"  Mamma,  does  he  want  the  cheese?" 


BUONAPARTE. 

He  had  ordered  fortifications  to  be 
erected  in  a  town  at  some  distance 
from  the  capital;  while  they  were  go- 
ing on,  he  chanced  to  be  within  three 
or  four  leagues  of  that  town,  and 
rode  over  incog,  to  inspect  them. 
When  he  reached  the  gate,  the  sen- 
tinel refused  to  suffer  him  to  pass. 
"  What,"  said  Buonaparte,  "  don't 
you  know  me?"—"  No." — "  Well, 
here's  a  Napoleon :  you  need  not  be 
afraid  to  let  me  in."  The  sentinel 
refused  the  gold  indignantly,  and  or- 
dered him  to  go.  Buonaparte  then 
desired  him  to  call  his  officer,  and 
finding  that  he  was  also  a  stranger  to 
his  person,  he  told  him  who  he  was, 
but  under  the  seal  of  secrecy,  and 
went  with  him  to  see  the  works.  He 
inspected  every  part  of  them  with  the 
most  minute  attention,  inquired  un- 
der whose  direction  they  were  con- 
structing, and  being  informed  by  his 
guide  that  it  was  under  his  own, 
questioned  him  very  particularly  re- 
specting what  remained  to  be  done. 
On  going  away,  he  gave  his  purse  to 
the  officer  for  the  sentinel  who  had 
refused  to  admit  him,  and  just  as  he 


242 


ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AXD    PERSONAL. 


was  mounting  his  horse,  he  said, 
"  Major,  you  will  break  fast  with  ine 
to-morrow."  Major,  said  the  cap- 
tain to  himself,  and  looking  round — 
major,  why  to  be  sure  he  must  have 
spoken  to  me,  for  there's  no  one  else 
here.  But  what  the  devil  does  he 
mean?  Is  he  ignorant  of  my  rank,  or 
is  he  joking?  for  from  the  cold  un- 
moved countenance  of  Napoleon,  who 
had  never  expressed  a  syllable  either 
of  praise  or  blame,  he  could  not  be- 
lieve that  he  meant  to  promote  him. 
However,  he  took  care  to  be  punc- 
tual the  following  morning,  when  he 
was  again  received  by  Napoleon  with 
the  title  of  major,  and  what  was  per- 
haps almost  as  grateful  to  his  feelings, 
Buonaparte  praised  very  highly  the 
talent  he  had  displayed  in  the  erec- 
tion of  the  works.  Like  most  others 
who  sprang  from  nothing,  Buona- 
parte always  neglected  the  friends  of 
his  early  youth  ;  but  no  one  knew 
better  than  he  did,  how  to  reward 
those  whom  he  could  make  useful  to 
him. 


LOUIS  xv. 
This  prince,  though  he  was  him- 
self one  of  the  most  profligate  men 
in  his  kingdom,  nevertheless  uniform- 
ly shewed  great  respect  for  religion. 
In  travelling,  whenever  he  met  with 
any  religious  procession,  he  never  fail- 
ed to  get  out  of  his  carriage,  knelt 
before  the  sacred  host,  which  in  Ca- 
tholic countries  is  always  carried  ex- 
posed, and  generally  returned  with 
the  clergyman  to  the  church  to  re- 
ceive his  benediction.  One  day  as 
he  was  going  to  Versailles,  he  met 
the  cure  of  St.  Philippe  du  Roule 
returning  from  administering  the  sa- 
crament. The  king  accompanied  him 
to  his  church,  and  finding  it  in  a 
very  bad  condition,  he  said,  "  How 


is  it,  M.  le  Cure,  that  you  do  not  get 
your  church  repaired?  It  is  in  such  a 
state  that  I  do  not  think  it  safe  for 
the  congregation." — "  It  is  true,  sire," 
replied  the  cure ;  "  but  our  parish  is 
too  poor  to  build  a  church,  and  this 
is  in  too  bad  a  condition  to  be  repair- 
ed; so  we  must  take  our  chance,  and 
trust  to  Providence." — "  Well,"  re- 
plied the  king,  "  if  such  be  the  case, 
I  must  come  to  your  assistance.  Get 
a  plan  drawn  for  a  new  church,  let 
it  be  sufficiently  large  to  hold  all 
your  parishioners  with  ease,  and  a 
few  stragglers  also,  such  as  myself; 
take  an  estimate  of  the  expense,  and 
bring  the  plan  and  architect  with  you 
to  Versailles  on  such  a  day."  We 
may  be  sure  the  cure  did  not  fail. 
The  king  received  him  and  the  ar- 
chitect very  affably,  looked  at  the 
plan,  said  it  was  a  very  good  one, 
but  that  the  windows  were  too  high, 
and  would  not  admit  sufficient  light 
for  the  congregation  to  read  their 
prayers.  He  then  altered  the  plan 
with  his  own  hand,  and  told  the  cure 
to  have  the  building  commenced  im- 
mediately, giving  him  at  the  same 
time  an  order  on  the  royal  treasury  for 
the  expense  of  it.  It  is  for  this  rea- 
son that  the  church  of  St.  Philippe 
du  Roule  is  still  called  Eglise  Roy  ale. 
When  Louis  XV.  built  his  palace 
at  Choisy  le  Roi,  which  was  after- 
wards destroyed  at  the  time  of  the 
Revolution,  the  village  was  very  small, 
and  had  no  church,  that  of  the  pa- 
rish being  at  Thiais,  another  village, 
about  half  a  mile  from  Choisy.  Louis 
wished  to  build  a  church,  but  it  was 
necessary  to  get  leave  from  the  bi- 
shop, who  readily  granted  it.  The 
kins*  then  sent  to  signify  his  intention 
to  the  cure,  offering,  at  the  same  time, 
to  make  ample  compensation  for  the 
pecuniary  loss  which  he  would  sus- 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


243 


tain  in  being  deprived  of  part  of  his 
parishioners.  The  curt  refused  his 
consent,  and  determined  to  go  to  law 
with  the  king.  When  Louis  was 
told  this,  he  sent  for  the  curt,  and  said 
to  him,  "  You  will  lose  your  cause, 
M.  le  Curt,  not  from  any  person- 
al interference  of  mine,  for  I  give  you 
my  word  I  shall  do  nothing  in  it ;  but 
you  know  that  I  am  at  the  head  of 
the  temporal  power,  and  I  have  the 
consent  of  the  bishop :  thus  you  have 


the  spiritual  and  temporal  interest 
against  you;  what  chance,  therefore, 
can  you  have?  Be  wise  then,  my  good 
friend,  and  take  what  I  offer." — 
"  Sire,"  replied  the  curt  boldly,  "  I 
might  sell  my  revenue,  but  I  will  ne- 
ver sell  my  flock."  The  king  turned 
his  back  upon  him  without  reply,  and 
the  curt,  as  we  may  easily  suppose, 
lost  his  lawsuit;  but  Louis  had  not 
the  magnanimity  to  make  up  the  loss 
of  his  income. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


MORNING    DIIESS. 

High  dress  of  mezereon  green gros 
de  Naples;  made  plain,  and  fastened 
behind ;  ornamented  on  each  side  of 
the  bust  with  a  corded  satin  trim- 
ming of  double  points,  through  the 
centre  of  which  a  plaited  stem  is  in- 
terwoven: it  nearly  meets  at  the 
waist,  but  extends  as  it  advances  to 
the  shoulders.  Long  sleeve,  nearly 
tight,  edged  with  satin,  and  orna- 
mented at  the  wrist  with  a  triplet  of 
satin  triangles  crossed  by  folded  cir- 
clets in  the  centre:  full  epaulette, 
separated  into  bouffants  by  satin  or- 
naments: broad  band,  edged  with 
satin,  round  the  waist ;  and  a  rosette 
of  corded  leaves  behind.  Satin  rou- 
leau at  the  bottom  of  the  skirt,  and 
two  rows  of  twisted  satin  cord  above 
at  equal  distances :  richly  worked 
vandyke  muslin  ruff,  and  narrow 
worked  ruffles. 

Cap  of  white  tulle  or  Paris  net, 
bound  with  pink  satin,  having  four 
borders  of  double  crbpe  lisse,  either 
twined  one  within  the  other,  or  else 
laid  on  in  waves  of  alternate  pink 

Vol.  II.  No.  X. 


and  white ;  straight  in  front,  and  full 
at  the  sides :  the  crown  has  a  white 
satin  corded  ornament  divided  into 
five  points;  between  the  upper  part 
of  each  is  a  puffing  of  net,  and  a 
white  satin  star,  whose  radii  are  com- 
posed of  small  folds,  spreads  over 
the  top:  clusters  of  roses  and  major 
convolvuluses  are  placed  in  the  front 
and  side.     Jonquil-colour  kid  shoes. 


BALL    DRLSS. 

Dress  of  pink  lama  gauze:  the 
corsage  plain,  bound  with  pink  sa- 
tin, and  ornamented  at  equal  dis- 
tances with  large  pearls  and  a  fes- 
toon of  silver  lace,  supported  in  front 
with  a  diamond  brooch.  Bouquets 
of  Sicilian  flowers  are  tastefully  dis- 
posed on  the  bust  and  sleeves,  which 
are  short  and  very  full,  festooned 
with  silver  lace,  and  set  in  a  satin 
band  round  the  arm :  sash  of  the 
same  material  as  the  dress.  The 
petticoat  has  a  very  deep  border  of 
plaited  tulle,  confined  at  the  top  and 
bottom  with  a  double  rouleau  of  pink 
satin,  divided  in  the  centre  by  a  nar- 
K.  K 


244 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS   ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


rower;  a  branch  of  satin  crosses, 
forming  half-diamonds:  at  the  points 
are  satin  bows,  and  sometimes  flow- 
ers are  added. 

Head-dress,  a  pearl  band  and  ti- 
ara, fastened  by  bows  of  pearl  on 
the  left  side :  very  little  hair  on  the 
forehead ;  and  the  hind  hair  is  drawn 
high,  and  confined  in  a  bunch  by  a 
cord  of  twisted  pearl.  Ear-rings, 
necklace,  and  bracelets  of  pearl,  with 
pink  topaz  snaps.  White  kid  gloves 
and  white  satin  shoes. 

The  above  is  from  Miss  Pierpoint. 


GENERAL  OBSERVATIONS  ON  FASHION 
AND    DRESS. 

Promenade  dress  experiences  as 
yet  very  little  approach  to  the  cos- 
tume of  autumn.  Silk  pelisses,  which 
have  been  worn  all  the  summer,  are 
indeed  more  general  than  they  were 
last  month;  but  white  gowns  worn 
with  silk  spencers  are  still  more  fa- 
shionable. Cambric  muslin  morning 
dresses  of  the  pelisse  kind  are  also 
yet  in  favour;  but  they  are  now  worn 
with  cachemire  or  bow-re  de  sole 
shawls.  We  have  seen  nothing  new 
in  promenade  bonnets  since  last 
month. 

Among  the  novelties  in  carriage 
dress  are  mantles  of  Pomona  green 
gros  de  Naples,  lined  with  rose  co- 
lour :  they  have  a  high  collar,  rather 
pointed  in  the  centre  of  the  back 
and  at  each  corner,  and  a  single  deep 
round  cape  of  the  pelerine  form: 
the  trimming  consists  of  three  nar- 
row welts  of  satin  disposed  in  a  wave 
all  round.  These  cloaks  are  a  very 
elegant  wrap,  but  there  is  not  much 
novelty  in  their  appearance. 

The  pelisse  which  we  are  about 
to  describe  is  certainly  more  novel, 
and  is  besides  very  tasteful.  It  is 
composed  of  very  dark  grey  velours 


simule,  and  lined  with  scarlet:  the 
back  has  a  little  fulness  at  the  bot- 
tom, and  the  waist  is  rather  shorten 
than  they  have  been  worn.  The 
collar  stands  out  a  good  deal  from 
the  neck,  and  is  cut  very  high.  The 
sleeve  tight,  simply  finished  at  the 
bottom  with  narrow  folds  of  satin. 
The  trimming  is  an  intermixture  of 
satin,  a  shade  lighter  than  the  pe- 
lisse, and  velours  simidt:  it  is  ar- 
ranged in  the  form  of  palm-leaves ; 
they  are  large,  and  have  a  very  strik- 
ing effect.  Full  epaulette,  ornament- 
ed with  leaves  of  the  same  form  as 
the  trimming;  they  meet  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  epaulette,  and  go  up  in 
a  sloping  direction  to  each  point  of 
the  shoulder. 

Leghorn  bonnets,  adorned  with 
full  bunches  of  corn-flowers,  are  a 
good  deal  worn  in  morning  carriage 
dress :  they  are  small,  and  rather  of 
the  cottage  shape.  Toque  hats,  to 
correspond  in  colour  with  the  mantle 
or  pelisse,  are  also  very  general,  and 
we  think  of  a  very  becoming  shape : 
the  cap  attached  to  them  is  a  dcmi- 
cornette,  with  a  full  but  rather  nar- 
row border  of  blond.  These  hats 
are  composed  of  a  new  fancy  silk, 
the  ground  of  which  resembles  gros 
de  Naples,  with  small  satin  lozenges 
thrown  up:  the  crown  is  low;  the 
brim  of  a  round  shape,  but  a  little 
bent  in  front.  A  very  full  plume  of 
marabouts  is  placed  on  one  side; 
they  are  white,  but  tipped  with  the 
colour  of  the  hat. 

One  of  the  prettiest  morning  dress- 
es that  we  have  seen  is  composed  of 
jaconot  muslin;  the  bottom  trimmed 
with  an  intermixture  of  entre-deux 
of  work  and  tucks :  the  latter,  which 
are  very  small,  are  put  in  rows  of 
six  together;  the  entre-deux  are  about 
an  inch  and  a  half  broad.     The  cor- 


FRENCH   FEMALE   FASHIONS, 


24.5 


sage  is  made  high,  but  without  a 
collar :  the  bust  is  ornamented  with 
rows  of  work,  placed  across  in  the 
lozenge  style.  The  body  fastens  be- 
hind, and  is  finished  round  the  throat 
with  a  full  ruff  of  rich  work :  the 
sleeve,  which  is  easy,  but  not  wide, 
is  terminated  by  a  triple  ruffle ;  and 
the  epaulette  consists  of  puffs  in  the 
form  of  lozenges. 

Muslin  is  also  in  favour  in  dinner- 
dress,  but  silks  are  becoming  more 
general.  We  have  noticed  a  pretty 
style  of  trimming  in  gauze :  it  is  dis- 
posed en  bouillonne,  and  the  bouil- 
lonne  interspersed  with  embroidery 
in  floss  silk,  resembling  short  plumes 


of  down  feathers :  a  gauze  ruche  fi- 
nishes this  trimming  at  the  bottom, 
and  it  is  headed  by  a  wreath  of  satin 
shells. 

Demi-cornettes,  composed  of  an 
intermixture  of  blond  and  satin,  are 
very  fashionable  in  half-dress :  the 
cauls  are  something  lower  than  they 
have  been  lately  worn ;  the  border, 
consisting  of  a  double  fall  of  blond 
lace,  has  very  little  fulness:  a  bouquet 
of  flowers  is  placed  far  back  on  the 
forehead,  or  else  a  very  small  bou- 
quet on  each  temple. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  Pomona 
green,  lavender,  rose  colour,  dark 
grey,  straw  colour,  and  blue. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  Sept.  18. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

After  a  great  deal  of  cold 
and  rain  we  have  now  very  hot  wea- 
ther ;  and  promenade  dress  is  conse- 
quently as  light  as  it  was  at  midsum- 
mer. We  see  nothing  in  the  public 
walks  but  white  robes  with  light  scarfs 
or  silk  spencers,  over  which  a  lace 
scarf  or  shawl  is  usually  thrown. 

Promenade  bonnets  are  generally 
of  light  but  not  transparent  materi- 
als; rice-straw,  sparterie,  and  differ- 
ent kinds  of  silk  are  all  in  favour. 
Bonnets  continue  small,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  gleaners'  hats,  which 
I  described  to  you  some  time  ago, 
and  which  are  now  still  more  general. 
Short  white  veils,  of  English  lace, 
are  very  much  worn. 

Nankeen  is  very  much  in  favour 
for  promenade  shoes,  as  is  also  leather 
of  the  same  colour:  we  seldom  see 
brodequins ;  but  when  they  are  worn, 
they  are  either  of  nankeen  or  stout 
silk.  Parasols  are  larger  than  they 
were  in  the  beginning  of  the  summer; 


they  are  always  lined  with  white  silk, 
and  finished  with  a  rich  embroidery 
or  a  deep  silk  fringe  round  the  edge: 
in  some  instances  both  are  adopted. 
A  material  has  recently  been  in- 
troduced for  morning  dress,  which  I 
remember  to  have  seen  in  England 
under  the  name  of  muslinet:  this 
dress  is  made  in  the  redbigote  form, 
wraps  rather  to  the  right  side,  and 
is  buttoned  up  the  front.  The  cor- 
sage is  in  the  deml-blouse  form.  The 
trimming  consists  of  four  or  six  very 
narrow  welts,  which  go  all  round. 

The  blouse  and  demi-blouseaxe  also 
in  favour  in  dinner  dress,  particular- 
ly for  the  country.  There  is  also 
another  style  of  robe  de  compagne, 
which  has  been  recently  introduced, 
which  I  think  very  pretty  and  appro- 
priate :  it  is  composed  of  unbleached 
cambric;  the  trimming  consists  of 
flounces  of  the  same  material,  each 
finished  at  the  bottom  by  an  embroi- 
dery in  green  silk,  in  a  running  pat- 
tern: the  flounces  are  from  three  to 

in    number,    and  of   different 

K  k  2 


SIX 


246 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITEKAIIY,    SCIENTIFIC,    &C 


breadths,  according  to  the  fancy  of 
the  wearer.  The  front  of  the  cor- 
sage is  ornamented  by  a  stomacher, 
formed  by  four  narrow  tucks  on  each 
side  of  the  breast;  a  narrow  green 
cord  is  laid  on  each  tuck.  The  back 
is  full,  and  ornamented  on  each  side 
with  a  cluster  of  tucks  in  a  simi- 
lar manner.  I  should  observe  to 
you  that  the  corsage  is  made  a  la 
vierge,  and  finished  round  the  top 
with  an  embroidery,  similar  to  that 
which  edges  the  tucks:  tight  long 
sleeve,  slightly  embroidered  at  the 
hand ;  and  a  full  epaulette,  with  the 
fulness  confined  by  embroidered 
bands,  forming  lozenges. 

Caps  are  very  much  in  favour  in 
half-dress :  the  bonnet  a  V  enfant,  which 
is  quartered  in  the  form  of  a  child's 
cap,  and  made  very  generally  in  Eng- 
glish  net,  richly  embroidered  and 
trimmed  with  English  lace,  is  much 
in  favour  for  the  country,  or  for  coun- 
try parties;  but  for  dinners  in  town 
blond  caps  are  more  general.  The 
low  cauls  which  have  been  so  long 
in  favour  are  on  the  decline.  The 
caul  is  not  indeed  much  raised,  but 
there  is  usually  some  ornament  on 
the  top,  which  gives  a  height  to  the 
cap.  Ribbons  and  flowers,  or  a  mix- 
ture of  both,  are  the  ornaments  of 
these  caps,  most  of  which  are  in  the 
demi-cornctte  style. 


White  lace  dresses,  of  the  Eng- 
lish manufacture,  are  coming  rapid- 
ly into  favour  in  full  dress:  they  are 
richly  embroidered  round  the  bot- 
tom; and  the  corsage  is  also  em- 
broidered :  the  sleeve  consists  of  either 
two  or  three  falls  of  lace,  or  a  fulness 
of  plain  net  interspersed  with  satin: 
the  bust  is  generally  ornamented  with 
satin  tucks  or  shells.  These  dress- 
es are  always  worn  over  satin  slips : 
white  seems  most  in  favour,  but  co- 
loured ones  are  considered  very  ele- 
gant. 

Toques  and  turbans  are  much 
worn  even  by  the  young  in  full 
dress;  but  flowers  are  equally  fa- 
shionable. The  most  novel  and  ele- 
gant style  of  head-dress  consists  of 
a  garland  of  short  white  marabouts 
with  a  poppy  between  each,  or  else 
an  ornament  in  jewellery.  This  gar- 
land, which  goes  entirely  round  the 
head,  is  placed  very  far  back,  and 
has  the  appearance  of  supporting  the 
hind  hair.  I  must  not  forget  to  ob- 
serve, that  the  fashion  of  dressing 
the  hair  light  in  front  is  becoming 
every  day  more  general. 

The  colours  now  most  in  favour 
are,  sea-green,  jl amine  de  ponche,  ci- 
tron, ponceau,  rose,  and  mahogany 
colour. 

Adieu!   Believe  me  always  your 
Eudocia. 


■OBMnBHWHl 


INTELLIGENCE,  LIFE] 

A  Life  of  Rossini,  followed  by  an  ana- 
lysis of  his  best  works,  will  shortly  make 
its  appearance  in  Paris,  by  the  author  of 
the  Lives  of  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Metas- 
tasio.  An  English  translation  will  be 
published  about  the  same  time. 

Mr.  Bramsen,  author  of  Travels  in 
Egypt,  &c.  has  in  the  press,  Remarks  on 
Spain,  descriptive   of  the  manners  and 


tARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 

customs  of  its  inhabitants,  constitutional 
troops,  party  feelings,  present  state  of 
trade,  and  late  events. 

Mr.  Biagioli,  author  of  several  esteem- 
ed elementary  works  on  the  Italian  lan- 
guage, is  preparing  a  new  edition  of  the 
Decameron  of  Boccacio,  in  five  vols.  Svo. 
and  4to.  in  Italian,  reprinted  from  the 
original  text,  from  the  MS.  of  Mannelli, 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITERARY,   SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


247 


with  the  most  remarkable  variants  of  se- 
veral other  editions,  and  illustrated  with 
an  historical  and  literary  commentary. 

In  the  press,  the  Academicians  of\823y 
or  the  Greeks  of  the  Palais  Royal  and 
the  Clubs  of  St.  James's. 

A  Translation  of  all  the  Greek,  Latin, 
Italian,  and  French  Sentences,  Phrases, 
&c.  which  occur  in  Blackstone's  Com- 
mentaries ;  and  also  the  Notes  of  Chris- 
tian, Archbold,  and  Williams,  will  be 
published  in  the  course  of  this  month. 

Mr.  Williams  is  preparing  for  publica- 
tion by  subscription,  Designs  from  the  Se- 
ries of  Friezes  commonly  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Phigalian  Marbles,  compre- 
hending the  contest  between  the  Lapithae 
and  Centaurs,  and  the  Greeks  and  Ama- 
zons, which  formerly  ornamented  the 
cclla  of  the  temple  of  Apollo  Epicurius, 
at  Phigalia,  in  Arcadia ;  taken  from  those 
Marbles,  consisting  of  twenty-three  tab- 
lets, now  deposited  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum. The  designs  are  made  by  various 
young  artists  of  rising  eminence,  and  will 
be  engraved  in  exact  imitation  of  the  ori- 
ginal drawings  in  the  lithographic  man- 
ner, by  Mr.  F.  O.  Finch. 

Mr.  Wild  lias  just  completed  an  Illus- 
tration of  the  Architecture  and  Sculpture 
of  the  Cathedral  Church  of  Worcester,  in 
twelve  plates,  each  1 0  by  12  inches,  care- 
fully engraved  in  the  line  manner  from 
his  drawings,  and  accompanied  by  an 
historical  and  descriptive  account  of  the 
fabric. 

Several  roots  of  the  arracaclia,  a 
plant  which  has  lately  excited  great  inter- 
est in  this  country,  have  been  received  at 
the  Royal  Botanic  Garden  of  Glasgow, 
from  Baron  de  Sack  of  Trinidad,  toge- 
ther with  a  large  collection  of  other  rare 
and  valuable  American  plants.  Roots  of 
the  same  kind  sent  on  two  former  occa- 
sions, by  the  same  liberal  contributor, 
had  suffered  so  much  during  the  voyage 
as  never  to  have  vegetated;  while  the 
present  individuals  have  every  prospect 
of  succeeding.  The  valuable  properties 
of  this  interesting  vegetable  were  un- 


known to  the  inhabitants  of  the  old  world 
till  Mr.  Vargas,  a  native  of  Santa  Fe  de 
Bogota,  where  it  is  indigenous,  brought 
to  Europe  the  information  which  was  pub- 
lished in  the  first  volume  of  the  Annals  of 
Botany.  According  to  his  statement, 
the  urrucacha  is  one  of  the  most  useful  of 
all  the  vegetables  of  that  part  of  America. 
It  belongs  to  the  order  of  umbelliferae, 
and  in  its  habit  resembles  an  apium :  thus 
bearing  some  analogy  to  the  celery  and 
parsley  of  Europe,  and  it  is  in  some  parts 
of  the  country  called  apin.  Its  stalk  ge- 
nerally divides  from  the  upper  part  of  the 
root  into  several  stems,  thickly  beset  with 
large  orbicular  leaves,  gashed  into  several 
sinuses,  and  supported  by  large  tubular 
leaf-stalks,  exceeding  a  goose-quill  in 
thickness.  The  roots  immediately  divide 
into  four  or  five  branches;  and  each  of 
these,  if  the  soil  be  light  and  the  weather 
favourable,  will  grow  to  the  size  and  near- 
ly the  shape  of  a  large  cow's  horn.  This 
root  yields  a  food,  which  is  prepared  in 
the  kitchen  in  the  same  manner  as  pota- 
toes. It  is  extremely  grateful  to  the  pa- 
late ;  more  close  than  mealy ;  so  tender 
that  it  requires  little  cooking,  and  so  ea- 
sy of  digestion,  that  it  is  the  common 
practice  in  the  country  to  give  it  to  con- 
valescents and  persons  with  weak  sto- 
machs, being  thought  of  a  much  less  fla- 
tulent nature  than  potatoes.  Starch  and 
various  kinds  of  pastry-work  are  made  of 
its  fecula.  Reduced  to  a  pulp,  this  root 
enters  into  the  composition  of  certain  fer- 
mented liquors,  which  are  considered  as 
very  proper  to  restore  the  lost  tone  of  the 
stomach.  In  the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  and  in- 
deed in  all  the  places  of  that  kingdom 
where  the  arracaclia  can  be  obtained,  they 
are  in  full  as  universal  use  as  potatoes  in 
England.  The  cultivation  of  the  arraca- 
clia requires  a  deep  black  mould,  that  will 
easily  yield  to  the  descent  of  its  large  ver- 
tical root.  The  mode  of  propagation  is 
to  cut  the  root  into  pieces,  each  having  an 
eye  or  shoot,  and  to  plant  these  in  sepa- 
rate holes.  In  three  or  four  months  the 
roots'  are  of  sufficient  size  and  quantity 


248 


POETRY. 


to  be  used  for  culinary  purposes ;  but  if 
suffered  to  remain  in  tbe  ground  for  six 
months,  they  will  often  acquire  an  im- 
mense size,  without  any  detriment  to  their 
taste.  The  colour  of  the  root  is  either 
white,  yellow,  or  purple,  but  all  are  of 
the  same  quality.  Like  the  poiatoe,  the 
arracacha  does  not  thrive  in  the  hotter  re- 
gions of  the  kingdom ;  for  there  the  roots 
will  not  acquire  any  size,  but  throw  up  a 
greater  number  of  stems ;  or  at  best  they 
will  be  small  and  of  indifferent  flavour. 
In  the  countries  which  are  there  called 
temperate,  being  less  hot  than  those  at 
the  foot  of  the  Cordilleras,  this  vegetable 
is  sometimes  found  to  thrive,  but  never  so 
well  as  in  the  elevated  regions  of  those 
mountains  where  the  medium  heat  is  be- 
tween 58  and  60  degrees  of  Fahrenheit. 
Here  it  is  that  these  roots  grow  the  most 
luxuriantly  and  acquire  the  most  deli- 
cious taste.  By  care  and  attention  in 
gradually  inuring  individuals  of  the  arra  - 
cacha  or  their  seeds  to  a  cooler  tempera- 
ture, there  is  every  reason  to  hope  that 


this  valuable  root  may,  like  the  potatoe, 
which  was  introduced  to  us  from  an 
equally  warm  country,  be  naturalized  to 
our  soil,  and  add  one  more  to  our  list  of 
important  economical  vegetables. 

Mr.  Cook  of  Birmingham  has  disco- 
vered that  all  sorts  of  cottons,  linens, 
muslins,  &c.  as  well  as  timber  itself,  may 
be  rendered  incombustible  by  immersion 
in  a  solution  of  pure  alkali.  This  solu- 
tion is  perfectly  clear  and  without  smell ; 
and  window-curtains  and  bed-hangings 
are  thus  rendered  perfectly  secure  from 
accidents  by  fire. 

It  is  well  known  that  linen  suffers 
much  injury  from  being  bleached  with 
lime.  To  detect  linen  which  has  been  so 
bleached,  cut  off  a  scrap  when  new,  put 
it  into  a  glass,  and  pour  upon  it  several 
spoonfuls  of  good  vinegar.  If  the  linen 
contains  lime,  the  acid  will  excite  con- 
siderable effervescence,  accompanied  with 
a  slight  noise ;  if  otherwise,  no  effect  is 
produced. 


octrjn 


BALLAD. 

Aye  let  us  weep  for  our  lord's  decay, 
And  more  for  our  lady's  woe  j 

But  hide  the  tears,  for  she  was  not  born 
To  be  pitied  of  men  so  low. 

For  she  was  nursed  on  a  silken  lap, 
And  fed  from  silver  and  gold, 

That  now  is  misclad  in  a  peasant's  cloak, 
To  shelter  her  babe  from  cold. 

The  courtly  madams  look  down  with  scorn 

To  see  her  unworthy  fall ; 
But  I  trow  if  love  could  be  coin'd  to  gold, 

Our  lady  should  buy  them  all. 


She  sits  and  graces  our  humble  hearth, 
Where  I  serve  her  on  bended  knee ; 

Her  looks  are  wages  enough  for  one 
That  remembers  her  high  degree. 

But,  oh  !   'tis  sad  to  behold  her  babe  ! 

How  she  sprinkles  his  face  with  tears, 
And  dries  theni  again  witli  her  long  black  hair, 

For  my  lady  is  young  in  years. 

But  I  honour  her  grief  as  tho'  'twere  crown'd 

With  the  reverend  silver  hair; 
For  sorrow  and  age  are  like  to  be  one 

On  a  face  that  was  once  so  fair. 

T. 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  373,  Strand. 


THE 


J&epogttorp 


of 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  §c. 


THE     T  II 


E  E  I  E  B. 


Vol.  II. 


November  1,  1823. 


N°-XI. 


EMBELLISHMENTS. 

1.  (Sophia  Lodge,  the  Seat  of  William  Dawson,  Esq. 

2.  The  Conservatory,  Sophia  Lodge      . 

3.  WoODSIDE,    THE    SEAT    OF    JoHN    IvAMSBOTTOM,    Esq. 

4.  Ladies'  Head-Dresses  ...... 

5.  Full  Dress    ....... 

V).  Muslin  Patterns. 

CONTENTS. 


page 

249 
.'250 
251 
305 
ib. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Views  of  Country  Sea  vs.—  Sophia  Lodge, 
the  Residence  of  William  Dawson, 
Esq 249 

Woodside,  the  Seat  of  John  Ramsbot- 
tom,  Esq 

Letters  from  Reginald  Filterbrain  of  the 
Inner  Temple,  Esq-      Letter  V.       .     . 

Singular  Properties  ofthe  wonderful  new 
Invention,  the  Imperial  Balsamic  Oil 
of  Blarney 


250 
251 

253 


A  Tour  round  pay  Parlour  (concluded)   .  25(5 
The  Loiterer.     No.  V 261 

Beauty  and  Fashion:    A  Repartee       .     .  265 

The  Power  of  Imagination 267 

Verses  suggested  by  a  Seal  belonging 
to  Bernard  Barton,  the  Poet,  and  ad- 
dressed to  him  by  the  Rev.  W.  B. 
Clarke ■ 271  ||  The  Diorama 

Gnosr  Stories.  No.  II. — The  Widow  of 
Milan 274 

Lhauda:   An  Historical  Tale    ....   276 

Stanzas  in  Acknowledgment  of  a  Piece 
of  Bridecake 283 

The  Confessions  of  a  Rambler.     No.  III.  2S4 

On  the  Drama  and  its  Actors     ....  287 

Description  of  a  Grecian  Temple  recent- 
ly discovered  under-ground  near  the 
City  of  Corfu       .     / 290 

Verses  on  an  Antique  Snuff-Box;  and  a 
New  Speculation  modestly  proposed     295 

Christina  Queen  of  Sweden,  and  Borri 
the  Alchymist 296 

Description  of  the  ancient  Palace  of 
Charles  V.  of  France 298 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Vocal  Anthology,  or  the  Flowers  of  Song  299 
Evans's  "  I*'ive  Bumper  Toasts"  .  .  .  ib. 
Ries's  the  National  Air  "  Nelson"  .  .300 
Nicholson's  Fantasia    on   the   favourite 

Ballad,  "  Home,  sweet  home"  .  .  .  ib. 
Hill's  "  The  Dawn,   or  the  Shepherd's 

Call"       ...........  301 

Jay's   introduction  and  Variations  on  a 

French  Air  by  Fontaine ib. 

Kiallmark's   "    When  Orpheus  lost  his 

blooming  bride"  .........     ib. 

Bishop's   "  Oh!   sweet  is  the    gale  that 

blows  over  the  sea" 302 

Bkuguieu's  Bishop's   Quartett,  "  What 

phrase,  sad  and  soft" ib. 

FINE  ARTS. 


ib. 


FASHIONS. 

London  Fashions. --Ladies'  Head-Dresses305 

Ladies'  Full  Dress        ib. 

General  Observations   on   Fashion   and 

Dress ib. 

French  Female  Fashions        307 

INTELLIGENCE, 

LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC         .     .  308 
POETRY. 

Love  :   From  the  German  of  Deinhard- 

stein 310 

Stanzas.    By  H   Neele ib. 

Lines  on  an  Autumnal  Evening  .     ib. 


LONDON : 

PRINTED  FOR,  AND  PUBLISHED  BY,  K.  ACKERMANN,  101,  STRAND; 
To  whom,  Communications  (postpaid)  arc  requested  to  be  addressed. 


L.  Harrison,  Printer,  !J7Sj  Strand 


TO  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Publishers,  Authors,  Artists,  and  Musical  Composers,  are  requested  to  transmit, 
on  or  before  the  1 5th  of  the  month,  Announcements  of  Works  •which  they  may  have  on 
hand,  and  we  shall  cheerfully  insert  them,  as  we  have  hitherto  done,  free  of  expense. 
New  Musical  Publications  also,  if  a  copy  be  addressed  to  the  Publisher,  shall  be  duly 
noticed  in  our  Review;  and  Extracts  from  new  Books,  of  a  moderate  length  and  of  an 
interesting  nature,  suitable  for  our  Selections,  will  be  acceptable. 

0  &s  paper  is  received.   It  reached  us  too  late  for  insertion  in  the  present  Number. 

Essay  on  Shandean  Prepossessions  in  Favour  of  Baptismal  Names — Fluctuations 
in  the  Fashion  of  Hats — The  Garden — Historical  Particulars  respecting  the  French 
Cours  d'Amour,  shall  appear  in  our  next. 


If  this  should  chance  to  meet  the  eye  of  Oscar,  who  some  months  since  favour- 
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THE 


&epogttorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  fyc. 


THE     THIRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


November  1,  1823. 


N°-  xr. 


VIEWS  OF  COUNTRY-SEATS. 

SOPHIA    LODGE,    THE    RESIDENCE    OF    WM.  DAWSON,    ESQ. 


This  truly  enchanting  spot,  in  the 
parish  of  Clewer,  embraces  a  portion 
of  St.  Leonard's  Hill,  bounded  by 
the  road  from  Windsor  through  the 
Forest  and  Clewer  Green.  A  farm 
formerly  occupied  the  spot  before 
the  old  mansion  was  built  by  Lillie 
Agascomb,  Esq.  who,  after  a  time, 
sold  it  to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
when  it  became  an  appendage  to 
Gloucester  Lodge,  and  received  the 
name  of  Sophia  Lodge  or  Farm.  It 
afterwards  became  the  property  of 
J.  Birch,  Esq.  It  must  at  one  time 
have  been  the  residence  of  the 
Countess  of  Hertford,  afterwards 
Duchess  of  Somerset,  from  being 
noticed  in  her  published  letters.  On 
quitting  it,  her  ladyship  observes, 
"  I  staid  in  Windsor  Forest  till  the 
13th  November,  and  left  it  more  un- 
willingly than  usual,  from  the  cir- 
Vol.  II.  No.  XL 


cumstance  of  our  returning  there  no 
more.  The  house  I  own  was  a  very 
bad  one,  but  there  was  something1 
in  the  retiredness  of  its  situation, 
and  the  beautiful  prospect  from  it, 
that  I  would  not,  to  please  myself, 
have  exchanged  it  for  the  finest 
apartment  in  Versailles  or  Hampton- 
Court;  but  it  is  so  much  out  of  re- 
pair, that  we  could  not  live  there 
any  longer,  without  buying  and  in 
a  manner  rebuilding  it,  which,  for  a 
very  substantial  reason  that  you  may 
guess,  was  impracticable." 

It  is  now  the  property  of  William 
Dawson,  Esq.  of  Craven  in  York- 
shire. Every  thing  has  been  done 
by  this  gentleman  that  the  Duchess 
of  Somerset  felt  it  required,  and  that 
Nature  left  to  be  accomplished  by 
the  hand  of  man.  The  talent  of 
Wyatt  has  been  called  in,  and  the 
L  L 


250 


WOODSIDE. 


house  is  now  a  beautiful  specimen  of 
his  fine  taste  in  the  Gothic  style ;  no 
expense  has  been  spared  to  render 
it  complete  in  any  point  of  view. 
The  Hall  of  Entrance  and  Anti- 
Room  is  chaste,  with  a  degree  of 
grandeur  rarely  to  be  expected  in 
a  mansion  of  moderate  dimensions : 
still  it  will  be  found  that  the  Dining- 
Room,  with  its  rich  ceiling,  and  the 
Drawing-Room  and  Sitting-Room, 
by  no  means  fall  short  of  the  impres- 
sion made  by  the  Hall  of  Entrance, 
which  mainly  results  from  the  good 
taste  in  the  fitting-up  and  in  the  fur- 
niture, which  is  observable  through- 
out. One  of  the  circular  projections 
forms  a  small  room  of  singular  beau- 
ty, which  is  connected  with  the  Sit- 
ting-Room,  and  fitted  up  as  a  bou- 
doir. The  Drawing-Room  is  thirty- 
six  feet  by  thirty,  and  finished  in 
compartments  embellished  with  rich 
landscapes.  From  a  rich  ceiling  is 
suspended  a  beautiful  chandelier, 
which  gives  a  fine  finish  to  this  de- 
lightful room.  Immediately  connect- 
ed with  and  embracing  the  entire 
range  of  this  room,  of  which  indeed 
it  may  be  said  to  form  one  side,  is  the 
Conservatory,  as  shewn  in  our  Se- 
cond View  of  this  elegant  seat :  it  is 
filled  with  costly  plants,  that  delight 
the  eye  and  perfume  the  air. 

Few  mansions  have  a  more  agree- 
able approach  than  the  entrance  to 
Sophia  Lodge,  through  a  variety  of 
trees  of  the  finest  growth.  The 
pine,  the  beech,  and  particularly  the 


chesnut-trees,  that  form  a  noble  ave- 
nue, here  attain  extraordinary  mag- 
nitude. The  mansion  rises  so  com- 
pletely from  the  side  of  the  hill,  that 
a  large  portion  in  the  rear  has  been 
removed  to  gain  space.  The  conse- 
quence is  a  very  bold  and  picturesque 
acclivity,  which  is  covered  with  beau- 
tiful wood,  that  screens  the  house 
completely  from  the  easterly  winds, 
and  gives  a  romantic  appearance  with 
its  overhanging  woods  to  the  Gothic 
fabric  beneath. 

The  grounds  are  encompassed  by 
a  zone  of  trees  of  the  finest  growth. 
Windsor  Forest  to  the  right  may  be 
said  to  belong  to  it,  so  completely  is 
it  identified  with  the  grounds.  A 
fine  sheet  of  water  graces  the  lower 
part  of  the  lawn,  near  which  is  a  rus- 
tic summer-house  overgrown  with 
ivy ;  from  which  the  walk  continues 
through  the  plantation  up  to  the 
house,  at  which  at  intervals  it  com- 
mands many  a  pleasing  peep.  Our 
First  Plate  of  this  seat  is  a  View  of 
the  Principal  Front,  shewing  the  en- 
tire extent  of  the  building,  with  its 
handsome  portico  and  elegant  oriel 
window. 

Some  extensive  walled  kitchen- 
gardens  are  situated  on  the  high 
ground  behind  the  house ;  beside 
which  runs  a  fine  terrace-walk,  that 
commands  a  beautiful  and  extensive 
view  of  the  country,  stretching  away 
across  the  luxuriant  vale  to  the  well- 
wooded  and  highly  cultivated  hills  of 
Buckinghamshire. 


WOODSIDE, 

THE   SEAT   OF   JOHN    11AMSBOTTOM,    ESQ.    M.  P. 


Tuts  house  is  situated  in  the  pa- 
rish of  Old  Windsor,  a  small  village 
that  extends  down  to  the  banks  of 
the  Thames,  and  in  the  hundred  of 


Ripplesmere  and  deanery  of  Read- 
ing. Old  Windsor  is  now  noted  for 
the  number  of  beautiful  villas  which 
it  contains,  and  for  its  venerable  pic- 


LETTERS    FROM    REGINALD    ITETIiRURAIN,   ESQ. 


251 


turesque  church-yard,  on  which  Gray 
is  said  to  have  written  his  Elegy.  It 
farther  deserves  notice  from  contain- 
ing the  ashes  of  the  celebrated  but 
unfortunate  Mrs.  Mary  Robinson, 
whose  works  have  been  long  before 
the  public,  and  justly  admired.  Old 
Windsor  must  formerly  have  been 
of  some  note,  from  Henry  I.  having 
kept  his  Christmas  here. 

Woodside-House  is  situated  on 
the  highest  grounds  of  this  pretty 
parish,  consequently  commanding 
some  fine  views  of  the  distant  coun- 
try. Among  other  fine  features  is 
Windsor  Castle,  a  distant  peep  of 
which  is  gained  i-n  our  present  view. 
The  mansion  is  of  brick,  and  partly 
Gothic,  as  will  be  perceived  by  its 
embattlements  and  pointed  windows. 
It  was  formerly  the  residence  of  John 
Martin  Leake,  Esq.  The  Entrance- 
Hall  is  decorated  with  marine  and 
other  views  painted  on  the  walls  in  a 
neutral  tint,  which  is  pleasing.  This 
leads  to  the  Dining-Room,  finished 
in  a  similar  manner  with  landscapes, 
but  in  their  proper  colours.  Con- 
nected with  the  latter  is  a  Sitting- 
Room,  containing  a  variety  of  Turk- 
ish, Dalmatian,  and  Hindoo  costumes, 
spiritedly  painted,  and,  as  well  as  the 
landscapes  in  the  Dining-Room,  at- 


tached to  the  wall,  of  which  they 
seem  to  form  a  part.  This  room 
forms  the  ground-floor  of  the  distant 
flank  of  the  building,  as  seen  in  the 
view.  The  corresponding  room  in 
the  near  wing  is  a  pleasing  reading- 
room  and  study.  The  Library  is 
a  fine  room,  containing  a  valuable 
collection  of  books,  exceeding  a 
thousand  volumes  of  the  best  authors ; 
and  among  some  family  portraits,  one 
of  the  late  beautiful  Mrs.  Ramsbot- 
tom.  The  views  from  this  room  are 
of  the  most  interesting  description. 
The  Drawing-Room  is  of  fine  pro- 
portions, and  contains  some  capital 
paintings:  the  furniture  is  blue  and 
gold. 

The  house  is  surrounded  with  flow- 
ering shrubs,  which  are  highly  pleas- 
ing to  the  eye :  the  grounds  are  exten- 
sive and  well  wooded.  The  Con- 
servatory, as  shewn  a  short  distance 
from  the  house,  is  a  chaste  building, 
embellished  with  pilasters  and  vases, 
surmounted  with  an  elegant  clock- 
tower.  The  water  in  front,  combined 
with  flowering  shrubs,  orange-plants, 
and  fine  woods  around,  gives  consi- 
derable interest  to  this  portion  of 
the  grounds.  Immediately  behind, 
planted  out  from  view,  are  the  sta- 
bles, with  other  offices. 


LETTERS  FROM  REGINALD  FILTERBRAIN, 

Of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq. 
Letter  V. 

"  There  is  a  play  to-night  before  the  king." 

Hamlet. 
This  morning,  at  breakfast,  we  found  on  the  table, 
Wet  and  warm  from  the  press,  a  voluminous  play-bill, 
Announcing  a  play,  in  a  very  long  yarn, 
At  the  theatre  rural,  old  Thrashavvay's  barn. 
The  distance  was  short  from  the  Priory,  so 
'Twas  resolv'd  by  my  friends,  una  voce,  to  go  ; 
And  I,  never  caring  to  start  an  objection, 
Volunieer'd  to  the  ladies  my  humble  protection. 
L  L  2 


252 


LETTERS    FROM    REGINALD    FILTJBKBttAIM,    ESQ. 

The  piece  was  what's  term'd,  in  the  language  theatrical, 
Serio-comico-melo-dramatical. 
A  little  before  this  grand  play  had  begun, 
To  our  great  consternation,  a  huge  gilded  sun 
From  some  Phaeton's  ringers,  unus'd  such  to  handle, 
Dropp'd  down  on  the  stage  and  extinguish'd  a  candle ; 
An  event,  by  the  bye,  at  which  well  you  might  guess, 
Greater  lights  never  failing  to  put  out  the  less. 
We  waited  not  long  ere  they  drew  up  the  curtain — 
The  veil,  I  had  rather  said,  sir ;  for  I'm  certain, 
So  full  'twas  of  holes,  that,  unless  you  were  blind, 
You  might  see  very  plain  the  transactions  behind. 
With  much  bustle  and  strut,  enter  by  the  stage-door 
A  squat  little  hero  some  five  feet  by  four, 
Follow'd  close  by  his  band,  whom  he  fell  to  haranguing 
(Each  man  of  them  look'd  as  if  destined  for  hanging): 
You  ne'er  in  your  life  saw  so  motley  a  group, 
Not  two  of  them  wore  the  same  dress  in  the  troop. 
You'd  have  laugh'd  till  your  sides  crack'd,  I'm  sure,  had  you  seen 
A  lancer  file  off  with  a  duck-legged  marine. 
I  pitied  sincerely  one  poor  little  chap, 
Borne  down  by  the  weight  of  a  grenadier's  cap. 
One  play'd  an  hussar  with  much  bustle  and  racket, 
With  one  arm  ramm'd  into  a  fireman's  jacket. 
Though,  as  well  you'll  imagine,  their  dresses  were  various, 
The  weapons  they  bore  were  not  less  multifarious : 
One  grasp'd  an  old  musket,  and  one  little  elf 
A  blunderbuss  nearly  as  large  as  himself; 
One  had  an  old  fowling-piece  wanting  a  stock, 
And  one  a  horse-pistol  without  any  lock: 
This  bore  a  carbine,  that  a  squat  musketoon ; 
One  was  chain'd  to  the  sword  of  a  heavy  dragoon ; 
One  was  crown'd  with  a  helmet  of  steel  d  la  Greajue, 
While  an  old  rusty  corslet  was  slung  round  his  neck. 
Their  commander  at  last,  what  with  kicking  and  punching, 
And  rapping  them  over  the  shins  with  his  truncheon, 
In  reducing  his  troop  to  some  order  prevailing, 
They  stood  like  a  piece  of  irregular  paling. 
This  done,  he  exclaim'd  — (flourish  trumpets  and  drums) — 
"  'Tis  she — the  queen  mother — behold  where  she  comes!" 
When— judge  you  the  scene,  'twas  enough  to  affright  him — 
Enter  to  him  a  sow  and  pigs  ad  infinitum, 
Which  by  chance,  in  the  midst  of  the  grand  preparation, 
In  a  nook  in  the  barn  had  escap'd  observation. 
Little  Buskin,  amazed,  gave  a  tragedy  start, 
With  his  arms  in  the  air  and  his  legs  wide  apart, 
Through  which  the  old  sow  thrust  her  monstrous  proboscis, 
And  fairly  walk'd  off  with  our  pocket  Colossus, 
Who  returning,  exclaim'd,  "  Sirs,  your  pardon  I  pray : 
I  was  quite  overcome,  I  was  carried  away." 


IMPERIAL    BALSAMIC    OIL    OF    BLARNEY. 


ZOO 


An  event  then  occurr'd  which  prodnc'cl  a  finale, 
Well  worthy  his  Muse  who  late  sung  "  Triui7iphalc." 
One  act  of  the  play  with  a  battle  was  ended, 
Though  the  rout  that  ensued  was  by  no  means  intended. 
Some  firing  took  place,  when  the  audience  saw 
A  piece  of  live  wadding  had  lodg'd  in  some  straw, 
Which,  you'll  readily  guess,  was  not  long  in  igniting, 
Both  actors  and  auditors  sorely  affrighting : 
This  "  last  scene  of  all"  was  most  truly  appalling, 
All  making  a  rush— women  screaming— men  bawling; 
It  was  each  for  himself,  'mid  confusion  and  pother, 
Now  trampling  on  one,  and  now  tumbling  o'er  t'other. 
In  the  mean  time,  for  aught  that  the  rest  did  to  hinder, 
The  barn  and  contents  might  be  burnt  to  a  cinder. 
I  was  rather  more  cool,  for  the  mischief  I  saw 
Had  then  but  extended  to  one  truss  of  straw, 
In  which  thrusting  a  hay-fork,  in  triumph  I  bore. 
Through  the  crowd,  who  by  this  time  had  burst  the  barn-door, 
And  rush'd  up  to  their  necks  in  a  horse -pond,  long  ere, 
In  their  hurry  and  terror,  they  knew  where  they  were  ; 
And  as  the  huge  blaze  in  the  water  I  threw, 
Not  a  few  of  them  thought  that  the  pond  had  caught  too ; 
While  others,  their  senses  as  lost  in  their  fright, 
Imagin'd  the  barn  was  pursuing  their  flight. 

Want  of  room  here  compels  me  my  letter  to  end : 
Adieu,  for  the  present,  my  much-valued  friend ! 

W.  H.  H. 


SINGULAR  PROPERTIES  OF  THE  WONDERFUL  NEW  INVENTION, 
^  THE  IMPERIAL  BALSAMIC  OIL  OF  BLARNEY. 


TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sin, 


To  get  on  in  this  world  must 
be  the  grand  object  of  every  one's 
ambition;  but  how  to  do  it  effectually 
is  the  great  secret,  which,  like  the 
philosopher's  stone,has  hitherto  elud- 
ed discovery.  It  is  true  that  Messrs. 
Bareface  and  Bluster  have  recently 
offered  to  the  public  what  they  pre- 
tend to  style  a  universal  passe-par- 
tout, to  enable  all  classes  of  society 
to  extricate  themselves  from  every 
possible  difficulty,  and  to  make  their 
fortunes  to  boot;  but,  like  most  other 
charlatans,  they  have  nothing  but 
sheer  impudence  to  support  the  cre- 


dit of  their  panacea,  which,  though 
in  some  cases  it  may  be  of  temporary 
service,  will  always  be  found  to  fail 
in  great  emergencies. 

Happily,  however,  for  mankind  in 
general,  all  that  Messrs.  B.  and  B. 
promise  can  be  performed  by  means 
of  a  wonderful  and  incomparable  in- 
vention, for  which  the  proprietors 
have  obtained  his  Majesty's  patent, 
with  which  the  public  are  forewarned 
the  abovementioned  gentlemen  have 
nothing  to  do. 

This  invaluable  preparation,  invent- 
ed by  Messrs.  Plaster,  Palaver,  and 
Pleaseall,  is  called  the  Imperial  Bal- 


254 


IMPERIAL    BALSAMIC    OIL    OF    BLARNEY. 


sarnie  Oil  of  Blarney :  it  is  extract-  j 
ed  from  the  genuine  blarney  stone,  j 
the  virtues  of  which  have  been  so 
long  and  so  justly  celebrated;  and  is  j 
confidently  offered  to  the  public  by 
the  inventors  as  possessing  all,  and 
more  than  all,  the  virtues  falsely  as- 
cribed by  Messrs.  B.  and  B.  to  the 
Extract  of  Brass.  To  prove  this  fact, 
we  need  only  look  at  some  of  the 
cases  in  which  the  extract  of  brass 
is  said  to  have  been  successful :  what 
for  instance  could  our  Hunts  and 
Cobbetts  have  done  without  the  Oil 
of  Blarney  ?  Did  they  not  try  in  vain 
to  arrest  the  public  attention  by 
boasting  of  their  own  talents,  patri- 
otism, and  sufferings  in  the  cause  of 
their  country?  All  their  brass,  and 
every  body  knows  they  have  enough 
of  it,  could  not  cram  the  dose  down 
John  Bull's  throat,  till  it  was  plenti- 
fully seasoned  with  the  Oil  of  Blarney. 
And  as  to  our  Scotch  and  Irish  neigh- 
bours, what  has  brass,  unmixed  with 
the  above  admirable  ingredient,  ever 
done  for  them?  Who  ever  heard  of 
a  Scotchman's  shewing  a  brazen  face 
to  those  from  whom  he  had  any  thing 
to  ask?  And  when  a  lady,  in  excuse 
for  running  away  with  a  tall  Irish- 
man, tells  you  that  "  his  tongue 
dropped  manna,"  is  it  not  evident 
that  Pat  has  achieved  his  conquest 
solely  by  the  aid  of  the  Imperial  Bal- 
samic Oil  of  Blarney? 

But  it  is  not  only  in  England  that 
this  invaluable  preparation  is  esteem- 
ed: it  is  in  equal  favour  on  the  Con- 
tinent, as  may  be  easily  proved  by  the 
unsparing  use  made  of  it  in  every  dis- 
patch from  the  French  army  now  in 
Spain;  while  the  Constitutionalists  on 
their  side  are  so  well  convinced  of  its 
admirable  qualities,  that  they  vie  with 
their  antagonists  in  the  use  of  it. 

It  is  especially  patronised  by  our 


most  eminent  diplomatists  ;  and  here 
Messrs.  P.  P.  and  P.  cannot  help  ob- 
serving the  singular  effrontery  with 
which  Messrs.  Bareface  and  Bluster 
have  claimed  for  their  Extract  of 
Brass  the  patronage  of  the  Congress 
of  Verona,  when  it  is  very  well  known, 
and  indeed  can  be  proved  by  the 
state  papers  of  the  Congress,  that  lit- 
tle, if  any,  of  the  Extract  of  Brass 
was  made  use  of;  while,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  considerable  quantity  of  the 
Imperial  Balsamic  Oil  of  Blarney  was 
supplied  to  the  high  contracting  pow- 
ers by  Messrs.  Plaster,  Palaver,  and 
Pleaseall,  who  had  the  honour  on 
that  occasion  to  give  the  most  per- 
fect satisfaction  both  to  their  impe- 
rial and  royal  majesties  and  their  mi- 
nisters. 

This  preparation  will  be  found  par- 
ticularly serviceable  to  persons  high 
in  office  and  to  parliamentary  ora- 
tors: it  will  assist  the  first  in  justify- 
ing themselves  from  any  charges  of 
peculation  or  misconduct  which  may 
be  brought  against  them.  It  will  al- 
so be  extremely  serviceable  in  conci- 
liating those  troublesome  people  who 
cannot  be  bought,  and  in  managing 
dependents  to  the  best  advantage. 
It  will  enable  the  others  to  put  a 
handsome  gloss  upon  their  conduct 
whenever  they  find  it  necessary  to 
change  sides,  and  also  to  secure  the 
good  word  of  both  parties. 

People  who  have  more  taste  than 
money  will  find  it  of  sovereign  effi- 
cacy to  keep  their  tradesmen  in  good 
humour;  while  it  will  be  useful  to 
those  who  have  more  money  than 
taste,  in  stopping  the  mouths  of  their 
good-natured  friends. 

Men  of  fashion  should  never  be 
without  the  Oil  of  Blarney :  it  would 
not  be  possible  to  enumerate  the  va- 
rious occasions  on  which  it  may  be 


IMPERIAL    BALSAMIC    OIL    OF    BLARNEY. 


253 


of  use  to  them,  but  it  will  be  suffi- 
cient to  remark,  that  by  its  assistance 
they  may  be  enabled  to  borrow  mo- 
ney, seduce  their  neighbours'  wives, 
pigeon  a  friend  at  play,  &c.  &c.  much 
more  easily  than  they  could  other- 
wise. 

Women  of  ton  will  also  find  very 
happy  effects  from  the  use  of  it:  it 
will  facilitate  their  views  of  conquest, 
give  them  full  access  to  the  purses  of 
their  more  wealthy  but  less  fashion- 
able female  friends,  and  enable  them 
to  maintain  a  doubtful  reputation,  by 
rendering  people  unwilling  to  believe 
what  is  said  of  them. 

But  it  is  not  merely  in  public  life 
that  the  invaluable  secret  discovered 
by  Messrs.  P.  P.  and  P.  will  be  effi- 
cacious; its  influence  extends  also  to 
the  most  endearing  recesses  of  domes- 
tic privacy :  the  submissive  spouses 
of  high-spirited  wives,  and  the  pret- 
ty young  helpmates  of  jealous  hus- 
bands, will  find  great  amelioration  of 
their  sufferings,  if  not  effectual  relief, 
from  the  use  of  it;  it  will  enable  vir- 
gins of  a  certain  age  to  secure  the 
friendship  of  their  married  acquaint- 
ance, and  prevent  old  bachelors  from 
becoming  the  butt  of  their  young 
friends.  In  fine,  so  numerous,  and 
we  may  almost  say  miraculous,  are 
the  virtues  of  this  unique  prepara- 
tion, that  Messrs.  P.  P.  and  P.  re- 
spectfully hope  and  trust  that  all  per- 
sons of  all  conditions  will  see  the  ne- 
cessity of  immediately  providing 
themselves  with  it:  but  as  it  is  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  have  it  genuine, 
the  public  are  cautioned  not  to  pur- 
chase any  bottles  which  are  not 
stamped  with  the  initials  of  the  firm, 
"  P.  P.  and  P."  and  sealed  with  a  seal 
representing  a  fox  complimenting  a 
crow,  who  holds  in  her  mouth  a  piece 
of  cheese. 


In  order  to  remove  every  doubt,  if 
any  such  could  exist  in  the  public 
mind  after  this  full  and  clear  expo- 
sition of  the  virtues  of  their  oil, 
Messrs.  P.  P.  and  P.  beg  leave  to 
subjoin  a  list  of  cases  in  which  their 
invaluable  preparation  has  had  most 
wonderful  effects. 

Eitherside,  Esq.  member  for 

the  borough  of  Swallowbribe,  had 
many  times  tried  to  speak  in  the 
House,  but  in  consequence  of  sneers, 
whispers,  &c.  from  several  members, 
he  never  could  get  through  more 
than  three  sentences;  but  having  for- 
tified himself  by  a  proper  quantity 
of  the  Balsamic  Oil  of  Blarney,  he  de- 
livered, without  the  least  hesitation, 
a  very  long  speech,  which  was  parti- 
cularly admired  by  the  members  on 
both  sides  for  the  elegance  of  its 
complimentary  terms. 

Peter  Profound,  an  author  who 
had  been  for  several  years  starving 
upon  the  produce  of  his  works,  which 
had  nothing  but  talent  and  learning 
to  recommend  them,  was  advised  to 
try  the  effect  of  a  dedication  to  a 
great  man;  but  found  himself  per- 
fectly unable  to  compose  it  properly, 
till  he  had  taken  a  certain  quantity  of 
the  Oil  of  Blarney,  which  cleared  his 
brain,  and  assisted  his  ideas  in  so 
wonderful  a  manner,  that  the  dedi- 
cation was  pronounced  a  chef-d'oeuvre 
of  panegyric  by  all  who  saw  it. 

Paul  Parvenu,  a  man  of  fortune, 
but  of  no  rank,  was  particularly  de- 
sirous of  marrying  a  woman  of  birth ; 
he  had  paid  his  addresses  in  five  or 
six  instances  without   success,    and 
was  about  to  give  the  matter  up  in 
despair,  when  he  heard  of  the  Oil  of 
Blarney,  was  persuaded  to  commence 
i  a  course  of  it,  and  in  the  very  first 
■  application   he   made  after  he  had 
I  done  so,  he  was  successful. 


2.06 


A   TOUR   ROUND   MY   PARLOUR. 


Luke  Lofty  had  repeatedly  offer- 
ed himself  as  a  member  for  different 
boroughs  without  success ;  he  had 
tried  the  force  of  bribery,  hard  drink- 
ing, and  fair  promises  to  no  purpose : 
he  was  advised,  when  he  again  offer- 
ed himself  as  a  candidate,  to  take 
fasting  for  three  mornings  successive- 
ly fifty  drops  of  the  Imperial  Oil  of 
Blarney,  and  immediately  afterwards 
to  present  himself  to  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  voters :  he  followed 
this  prescription,  and  was  returned 
in  triumph. 

Peregrine  Plastic  had  been  long 
desirous  of  a  place  at  court,  and  had 
attended  for  years  at  the  levee  of  a 
great  man,  who  promised  to  remem- 


ber him  on  the  first  vacancy.  There 
was,  however,  always  some  reason  or 
other  why  Peregrine  could  not  be 
served:  at  last  he  was  persuaded  to 
try  the  Oil  of  Blarney,  and  by  its  as- 
sistance he  succeeded  in  convincing 
his  patron,  that  it  was  a  shame  that  a 
man  of  merit  should  have  to  wait  so 
long,  and  he  actually  obtained  the 
first  vacant  appointment. 

The  original  documents  of  the 
above  cases,  and  many  others,  are  in 
the  hands  of  Messrs.  Plaster,  Pala- 
ver, and  Pleaseall,  and  may  be  seen 
by  application  at  their  residence, 
Blarney  Villa.  I  am,  sir,  for  Messrs. 
Plaster,  Palaver,  and  Pleaseall, 

Peter  Puff. 


A  TOUR  ROUND  MY  PARLOUR. 

%  J.  M.  L. 


(Concluded 

From  this  mournful,  and  perhaps 
to  my  readers  tedious,  subject,  let 
us  take  another  stride,  and  we  reach 
a  pleasanter  thing,  the  piano-forte, 
standing  between  the  closet-door  just 
passed  and  the  door  forming  the  en- 
trance to  the  room.  It  is  a  modern 
instrument,  made  by  Rolfe,  with  ad- 
ditional keys,  and  all  that  sort  of 
iking.  This  belonged  to  my  dear 
Ann  before  our  marriage,  and  there- 
fore to  me  it  tells  many  a  tale  of  well- 
remembered  love,  many  a  history  of 
song-singing  and  flute-playing,  and 
other  occasional  accompaniments, 
which  must  be  nameless.  Let  us 
look  into  the  drawers:  here  are  many 
of  the  songs  I  used  to  sing  to  her 
playing  formerly;  we  sometimes  try 
them  over  now,  but  our  children 
want  all  the  music  she  can  afford 
them  to  caper  to.  What  loving  titles 
have  most  of  the  songs !  Let's  see, 


from  p.  212.) 

here  is  "  Love  has  eyes" — "Just  like 
love" — "Be  mine,  dear  maid" — "  My 
heart  with  love  is  beating" — and 
twenty  other  sweet  things  of  that 
sort.  How  well  I  sung  them,  or  she 
accompanied  me,  is,  as  the  miser  said 
of  what  he  gave  away,  nothing  to 
nobody;  and  as  perhaps  my  verse 
will  again  speak  better  for  me  than 
my  prose  in  explanation  of  the  dif- 
ferent compositions  sometimes  played 
on  this  instrument,  I  will  introduce 
an  irregular  piece  that  I  wrote  a  few 
years  ago,  which  I  do  not  presume 
to  call  an  ode,  but  which  any  body 
may  set  to  music  if  they  please,  and 
if  they  are  able,  and  call  it  as  I  do, 
music's  varieties. 

Sweet  soft'ner  of  the  soul,  with  humble  lay 

I  come  to  praise  thy  ever-varying  pow'rs, 

Which  oft  have  fill'd  with  bliss  life's  early 

day, 

And  woke  to  joy  when  sorrow  stole  my 

hours. 


A    TOUR    HOUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


2.37 


Now  is  the  mildest  movemenL  thine, 
That  speaks  the  soul  of  love  divine  : 
In  whisp'ring  tones  the  melting  air 
Steals  to  the  heart  of  beauty  fair; 
Wakes  ev'ry  sense  to  bliss  refin'd, 
Where  love  and  honour  fill  the  mind. 

Anon  loud  swelling  chords  assail  the  ear, 

And  pour  the  martial  melody  afar, 
Pourtraying  all  a  battle's  frenzied  fear, 

And  all  the  pomp  of  desolating  war. 
The  dying  cries  in  mournful  tone, 
The  hero's  agonizing  groan, 

The  plaintive  strings  employ; 
The  volley's  thnnd'ring  awful  fire  ; 
And  when  the  vanquish'd  foes  retire, 

The  victors'  shout  of  joy. 

And  now  to  Sorrow's  bleeding  heart 

The  gentler  cadence  flows  ; 
Each  note  breathes  hope  to  sooth  its  smart, 

To  soften  all  its  woes  : 
Not  balmy  sleep  more  welcome  seems 

To  Mis'ry's  throbbing  breast; 
For  Music  calls  up  happiest  dreams, 

To  lull  its  pangs  to  rest. 

But  now  in  changing  notes  again  : 
The  hunter  bounding  o'er  the  plain, 
And  all  Diana's  mirthful  train, 

Sweet  Music's  pow'r  pourtrays  ; 
And  now  the  pack's  melodious  cries, 
Hark  forward  !   swift  the  huntsman  flies, 
Till,  lo  !  the  dappled  victim  dies, 

And  ends  the  jovial  chase. 

The  notes  of  Mirth  are  fled  !  a  hallow'd  strain 
Now  trembles  o'er  the  strings  with  sweet 
controul, 
Swelling,  beneath  Religion's  sacred  fane, 

To  heav'n  the  tribute  of  the  humbled  soul. 
The  choral  anthem,  or  the  cloister'd  hymn, 
In   peals   melodious   waft  the    pray'r  to 
heav'n  ; 
Whilst  Penitence,  whose  eyes  sad  tears  be- 
dim, 
Kneeling  appears,  that  sin  may  beforgiv'n. 

In  liveliest  strain, 

Unknown  to  pain, 
Now  merry  sounds  advance  ; 

While  joyful  throngs, 

With  cheerful  songs, 
Trip  down  the  zestful  dance. 

Thus  speeds  the  night 

In  rapid  flight, 
No  care  dares  intervene  ; 

Till  coming  day 

Warns  all  away, 
To  quit  the  festal  scene. 

Vol,  II.  No.  XI. 


Thus  Music's  ever-varying  pow'rs 
Are  dear  to  man  in  all  his  hours, 

The  serious  or  the  gay. 
Then,  heav'n-sent  science,  still  be  mine; 
Still  round  me  waft  thy  sounds  divine, 

And  lengthen  life's  short  day! 

What  a  complex  piece  of  musical 
mechanism  is  a  piano-forte!  Even  in 
our  own  time  how  much  we  have 
seen  them  improved !  What  a  won- 
derful contemplation  then  it  is  to 
look  hack  to  the  supposed  origin  of 
all  stringed  instruments — the  hollow 
shell  of  a  tortoise  or  some  large  fish 
strung  with  the  dried  tendons  of  an 
animal  in  the  first  uncivilized  a«e  of 
man,  to  the  beautiful  and  fine- toned 
lutes,  harps,  and  piano-fortes  of  the 
present  day!  How  slow  and  gradual 
must  all  this  improvement  have  been, 
and  what  anxious  hours  must  have 
been  spent  by  those  who  have  im- 
proved them!  The  same  observa- 
tions indeed  apply  to  almost  every 
other  article  of  furniture  and  ap- 
parel connected  with  polished  life; 
and  yet  we  take  these  things  as  we 
find  them,  too  often  without  a  thank- 
ful thought  or  feeling,  when,  in  point 
of  fact,  we  have  so  much  to  be  thank- 
ful for.  Nay,  if  the  least  particle  of 
any  portion  of  our  dress,  furniture, 
or  food,  be  a  little  out  of  order  or 
unfashionable,  we  lament  and  mourn 
over  it  as  if  we  had  no  hope,  or  fly 
into  a  passion,  and  fancy  ourselves 
the  completest  wretches  in  existence ; 
when  the  perusal  of  a  page  or  two 
only  of  the  work  recently  published 
by  Captain  Franklin,  explanatory  of 
the  utter  misery  and  want  experi- 
enced by  the  Indians  and  their  Eu- 
ropean companions  in  that  disastrous 
but enterprizing northern  expedition, 
would,  I  should  imagine,  cause  the 
poorest  inhabitant  of  the  poorest  mud 
cottage  in  England  to  hug  himself  at 
M  m 


25S 


A    TOUK    HOUND    MY    PAIlLOUIt. 


his  comparative  affluence  and  com- 
fort; whilst  it  ought  to  make  the  fan- 
ciful and  effeminate  being  who  is 
quarreling  with  an  overplus  of  luxu- 
ries, ashamed  of  himself.  But  I  have 
taken  a  wide  jump  indeed,  from  the 
piano-forte  in  my  parlour  to  the  fro- 
zen wilds  of  North  America;  hut 
having  seen  Franklin  and  his  starv- 
ing party  dine  off  some  old  shoes 
and  burnt  bones,  my  fancy  has  had 
enough  of  it,  and  I  am  come  back  to 
finish  my  little  tour  in  content  and 
peace. 

Above  the  piano-forte,  and  cover- 
ing that  portion  of  the  wall  of  the 
room,  are  seven  drawings  by  my  wife, 
which  I  call  her  exhibition.  These 
of  course  are  favourites,  though  all 
copies:  here  is  the  Milk-Girl  cross- 
ing the  Brook;  the  Rustic  Daughter 
preparing  her  Parents'  Dinner;  the 
Village  Sempstress;  an  old  Rustic 
smoking  at  his  Cottage-Door;  the 
Father's  Hope  and  Mother's  Darling 
(I  think  they  are  called),  a  pair,  con- 
taining much  such  a  couple  of  fair 
children  as  are  our  own,  full  of  fun, 
frolic,  and  gig — by  the  bye,  these  said 
children  have  effectually  put  an  end 
to  mamma's  drawing.  The  last  is  call- 
ed, "  Herself  the  fairest  flower ;"  and 
some  flattering  folks  have  been  po- 
lite enough  to  say  it  is  very  like  my 
wife;  but  let  that  pass,  folks  will  flat- 
ter, and  are  fond  of  making  much  of 
a  little  bit  of  truth:  if  the  hair  is  like, 
or  an  eye,  or  the  chin,  or  the  tip  of 
a  nose,  all  the  rest  will  follow  in  fan- 
cy's eye  presently. 

Come  we  are  getting  on;  the  door 
of  the  room  is  reached,  and  I  do  not 
know  that  I  have  much  to  say  either 
to  that,  or  to  the  picture  of  a  Storm 
on  the  Ganges  placed  above  it. 
Much  might  be  said  to  be  sure  about 
the  usefulness  of  dooi-s  in  general, 


and  of  this  door  in  particular;  such 
as,  that  a  door  lets  in  your  friends, 
but  keeps  out  your  foes ;  then  a  door 
may  be  locked  or  left  open ;  it  may 
be  knocked  at  and  will  not  complain; 
then  if  you  choose  to  be  witty,  you 
may  say,  that  though  a  door  never 
was  known  to  ask  a  question,  yet  is 
frequently  said  to  be  answered;  then 
you  may  put  the  young  lady's  para- 
doxical Christmas  conundrum,  as 
thus,  "  When  is  a  door  not  a  door?" 
Now  this  would  puzzle  some  people 
amazingly;  but  the  answer  is  very 
convincing,  "  when  it  is  ajar"  and 
let  me  tell  you  these  conundrums  are 
very  pleasant  things  to  crack  with 
your  nuts  and  a  glass  of  wine  in  a 
winter's  evening. 

There  is  one  thing  more  before  I 
turn  the  corner,  and  that  stands  just 
beyond  the  door  in  a  little  nook  be- 
tween it  and  the  windows,  and  is 
called  a  tea-poy:  till  I  met  with  this 
word,  I  had  never  heard  of  any  that 
sounded  like  it  but  Sepoy ;  and  most 
assuredly  it  is  not  a  bit  like  an  East 
Indian  soldier,  which  I  presume  every 
body  knows  that  a  Sepoy  is.  I  re- 
member that  my  mother's  was  a  tea- 
chest;  then  we  got  to  tea-caddies; 
and  now  we  have  tea-poy s;  and  I 
assure  you  this  of  mine  is  a  very  re- 
spectable-looking little  gentleman, 
and  as  upright  as  his  almost  name- 
sake we  have  been  talking  about,  the 
Sepoy.  He  is  made  of  rose-wood,  is 
between  two  and  three  feet  high,  and 
runs  about  upon  his  castors  with  in- 
finite agility  after  my  wife  and  the  tea- 
table,  where  he  stands  on  her  left 
band,  with  his  four  receptacles  for 
tea  and  his  two  sugar-basons ;  and 
is  really  not  the  most  useless  of  mo- 
dern inventions. 

The  last  side  of  the  parallelogram 
is  reached ;  we  are  at  the  windows  of 


A    TOUR    HOUND    MY   PARLOUR. 


m 


the  room,  which  part  is  generally 
the  least  furnished,  so  that  a  hope 
may  now  be  entertained  of  a  speedy 
termination  to  the  tour.  "  A  con- 
summation devoutly  to  be  wished!" 
exclaims  some  impatient  reader. 
Well,  most  testy  sir,  I  shall  get  on  as 
fast  as  I  can,  but  shall  not  hurry  my- 
self nevertheless.  Here  then  are  the 
curtains — morine  curtains,  not  vulgar 
tavernifled  red,  but  chaste  dove-co- 
loured morine ;  and  these,  if  I  had 
any  taste,  would  furnish  me  with 
hints  for  a  beautiful  description  of 
fringes  and  festoons,  scrolls  and  dra- 
peries, cornices  and  gilt  pins,  and 
all  the  other  glorious  insignia  of  the 
upholsterer.  But  I  remember  I  had 
enough  of  these  when  I  paid  the  bill 
for  the  curtains  ;  and  I  remember  too 
that  I  had  half  a  mind  to  versify  it, 
some  of  the  descriptions  were  so  fio- 
ridand poetical;  but  thinkingitwould 
only  prolong  the  memory  of  certain 
departed  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence, 
I  gave  up  the  idea. 

Between  the  windows  is  a  pier- 
glass,  respecting  which  I  have  no- 
thing to  remark  in  addition  to  what 
has  already  been  said  of  the  chimney- 
glass  ;  but  under  it  are  three  minia- 
tures, about  which  I  have  something 
to  say.  The  first  is  of  an  old  gen- 
tleman, who,  although  not  grandfa- 
ther to  my  children,  yet  is  held  by 
my  family  in  almost  the  light  of  one, 
from  his  more  than  fatherly  kindness 
to  my  wife  in  her  infancy  and  advanc- 
ing years.  He  was  one  of  that  de- 
scription called  by  Pope  "  the  noblest 
work  of  God,"  an  honest  man,  that 
rarest  of  things  to  be  found  upon 
earth.  Every  such  man's  memory 
should  be  sacred  and  dear  to  those 
who  have  known  his  worth ;  and  the 
world  should  oftener  hear  than  it 
does,  that  such  men  have  existed. 


Villany  and  its  deeds  are  blazoned 
forth  and  thought  worthy  of  record, 
but  the  memory  of  the  unobtrusive 
and  quiet  course  of  him  Avho  "  goes 
about  doing  good,"  is  too  often  left 
to  sink  into  silent  oblivion.  This  pic- 
ture is  of  course  dear  to  us  all ;  and 
it  has  another  claim  to  our  kindness 
and  regard :  it  was  done  by  a  young 
lady,  a  friend  of  the  family,  who  had 
never  been  taught  drawing  ;  and  it  is 
singular,  that  though  the  execution 
of  it  is  but  indifferent,  yet  the  like- 
ness is  most  striking.  Next  to  it  is  a 
miniature  of  my  daughter,  taken  when 
nearly  an  infant,  by  a  regular  prac- 
titioner: this  was  like  enough  when 
first  done,  but  four  years  have  made 
a  wonderful  alteration,  and  it  is  now 
little  more  like  "  than  I  to  Hercules." 
This  forms  my  principal  objection  to 
the  having  a  likeness  taken  of  a  very 
young  person:  it  is  all  very  well  as 
shewing  what  they  have  been  in  in- 
fancy ;  but  it  is  sometimes  rather  lu- 
dicrous to  see  in  the  house  of  a  great 
bluff-looking  man,  with  a  face  like 
the  Red  Lion  at  Brentford,  as  the 
old  saws  have  it,  a  miniature  of  a 
little  fair-faced  puny  boy,  and  to  hear 
this  bluff  gentleman  say,  in  the  voice 
of  a  Stentor,  "  That's  me."  Next  to 
this  is  a  plain  black  profile,  to  which 
/  can  say,  "  That's  me."  I  took  it 
into  my  head  the  other  day  to  walk 
into  a  shop,  and  suffer  the  machine, 
as  they  call  it,  to  be  passed  over  my 
visage ;  and  here  I  am  quite  black  in 
the  face,  with  a  smart  ebonized  frame, 
and  an  inner  gilt  edge,  all  for  four 
shillings/  What  a  depreciation  of  the 
fine  arts,  if  indeed  this  can  be  said 
to  belong  to  them !  I  might  here  give 
my  own  history,  but  I  feel  as  if  I 
blushed  at  the  idea;  and  as  it  would 
be  rather  too  egotistical  to  trouble 
the  world  with  a  full,  true,  and  par- 
M  m  2 


260 


A    TOUR    ROUND    MY    PARLOUR. 


ticular  account  of  my  birth,  parent- 
age, and  education,  I  shall  even  de- 
scend to  the  work-table  that  stands 
under  these  three  generations  in  mi- 
niature. 

Let  us  just  take  a  peep  in.  It  is 
hardly  fair  to  be  sure,  as  the  lady 
owner  is  not  present.  What  an  as- 
semblage !  Why  it  is  confusion  worse 
confounded :  threads  and  tapes ;  bob- 
bins and  buttons;  pins  and  needles; 
housewifes  and  cotton-boxes;  and  I 
know  not  what  besides.  I  will  dip  a 
little  deeper,  and  see  if  there  is  any 
thing  more  worth  enumerating. — 
Pshaw!  I  have  run  a  confounded 
needle  into  my  finger!  "  Serve  you 
right,  Mr.  Inquisitive,"  says  some 
young  lady.  Well,  miss,  I  will  not 
look  any  farther,  but  merely  recom- 
mend you  to  paint  one  as  prettily  as 
my  wife  has  painted  this ;  for  it  is  as 
gay  as  wreaths  of  flowers,  butterflies, 
shells,  feathers,  &c.  &c.  can  make 
it ;  only  that  Betty  the  cook  is  con- 
tinually setting  something  or  other 
on  it  to  scratch  it;  and  though  Betty 
is  a  good  girl  in  the  main,  and  means 
to  do  well  I  believe,  yet  she  can  ne- 
ver remember  the  perpetual  exclama- 
tory cautions  of  "  Lord,  Betty,  you'll 
ruin  my  table !"  Poor  girl,  she  is  on- 
ly troubled  with  an  incontinence  of 
memory,  like  the  one  mentioned  by 
Matthews  in  an  entertainment  of  his, 
who  used  to  go  up  stairs  fifty  times 
a  day,  and  never  come  down  again. 

Now  we  get  on  indeed ;  I  have 
passed  the  other  window,  and  shall 
reach  my  old  arm-chair  in  a  trice; 
though  I  must  take  a  peep  first  into 
the  last  closet  as  I  pass.  This  is  the 
store-closet;  and  when  the  children 
are  in  the  room,  it  is  a  dangerous 
matter  to  open  the  door,  for  they  can- 
not believe  but  you  did  so  to  give 
them  some  slice  of  cake,  or  biscuit, 


with  jam  or  honey.  This  is  really  a 
goodly  display  though.  That  upper 
shelf  is  loaded  with  a  famous  lot  of 
white  jars  of  all  dimensions :  let  me 
see,  "  currant  jelly,  1821 ;"  "  rasp- 
berry jam,  1822;"  "  gooseberry  jam, 
ditto ;"  "  damson  cheese,  ditto ;" 
"  apricot  jam,  ditto;"  "  Narbonne 
honey:"  but  indeed  it  is  too  much  ; 
I  shall  make  my  young  readers'mouths 
water,  and  the  old  ones  know  all 
about  it;  I  will  therefore  desist.  Well 
then,  on  the  next  shelf  are  pickles  of 
all  sorts,  from  the  mango  down  to 
samphire,  a  most  classical  pickle,  for 
Shakspeare  has  called  the  gathering 
of  it  a  "  dreadful  trade."  Below 
these  are  soaps  and  starches  and 
powder-blues;  and  at  the  bottom  of 
all  a  variety  of  tun-bellied,  Falstaflf- 
like,  lettered  gentlemen,  in  the  shape 
of  goodly  stone-bottles  of  from  one 
to  three  gallons,  and  marked  G.  R. 
O.  C.  E.  not  that  there  is  a  groee  of 
them,  but  that  they  contain  certain 
home-made  wines,  called  gooseberry, 
raisin,  orange,  currant,  and  elder; 
the  last  conjuring  up  pleasant  recol- 
lections of  winter,  when  a  little  of  it 
mulled,  and  taken  with  divers  strips 
of  toasted  bread,  is  rather  a  com- 
fortable concern. 

Thank  heaven,  the  door  is  shut, 
and  my  tour  is  ended;  here  is  the 
chair  I  started  from,  and  I  will  now 
sit  me  down,  for  if  the  reader  is  not 
tired,  I  am.  What!  another  inter- 
ruption? Here  is  a  living  piece  of  fur- 
niture; 2niss  has  taken  possession  of 
my  chair.  Well,  madam,  fond  as  I 
am  of  you,  and  fond  as  you  generally 
are  of  me,  you  must  nevertheless 
turn  out.  What,  you  do  not  like  it? 
However,  that  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at;  few  like  to  be  forcibly  ejected 
from  a  good  situation. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  a  cat 


THE   LOITERER 


261 


is  an  abused  animal ;  the  species  has 
somehow  got  an  ill  name  for  trea- 
chery and  other  bad  qualities,  and 
perhaps  not  without  some  reason: 
they  certainly  are  far  behind  the  dog 
in  those  peculiar  and  strong  attach- 
ments which  are  so  honourable  to  the 
latter  animal;  yet  I  have  met  with 
many  instances  to  the  contrary,  and 
this  quiet  creature  is  one  of  them. 
She  will  suffer  the  children  to  drag 
her  about  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  and 
never  attempts  to  behave  spitefully, 
when  it  would  be  almost  justifiable 
on  her  part  to  do  so ;  for  I  do  not 
know  any  thing  more  deserving  of 
pity,  than  a  cat  or  kitten  when  lug- 
ged about  in  the  topsy-turvy  way  they 
mostly  are  by  children.  I  have  also 
met  with  very  strong  instances  of  me- 
mory in  cats,  a  thing  which  they  are 
supposed  to  be  particularly  devoid 
of:  one  instance  was  remarkable, 
where  a  cat,  who  never  saw  me  more 
than  three  or  four  days  in  a  year,  and 
that  generally  at  one  stay,  would  re- 
member me  perfectly  well  on  going 
the  succeeding  year.  This  was  at  a 
fishing-house,  and  as  I  used  to  give 
grimalkin  fish  to  eat,  that  circum- 
stance may  help  to  account  for  it. 
However,  I  rather  wish  to  redeem 
the  general  character  of  the  cat  from 
what  I  think  an  unmerited  obloquy : 
much  of  their  ferocity  and  waspish- 
ness  arises  more  from  ill  treatment,  I 
am  inclined  to  believe,  than  their 
real  nature.  There  is  scarcely  an  ani- 
mal that  might  not  be  subdued  by 
kindness;  and  feeling  this,  I  cannot 


agree  with  the  late  Dr.  Wallcott  (alias 
Peter  Pindar,  of  facetious  memory,) 
in  the  following  character  of  a  cat, 
given  in  his  Pindariana :  "  I  do  not 
love  a  cat;  his  disposition  is  mean 
and  suspicious.  A  friendship  of 
years  is  cancelled  in  a  moment  by  an 
accidental  tread  on  his  tail  or  foot. 
He  instantly  spits,  raises  his  rump, 
twists  his  tail  of  malignity,  and  shuns 
you ;  turning  back,  as  he  goes  off,  a 
staring  vindictive  face,  full  of  horrid 
oaths  and  unforgivingness ;  seeming 
to  say,  '  Perdition  catch  you!  I  hate 
you  for  ever !'  " 

Thus  then  I  have  finished  my 
journey;  I  again  repose  in  my  easy 
chair;  and  1  have  escaped  from  a 
day's  ennui,  as  completely  as  if  I  had 
been  wandering 

"  By  hill  or  valley,  fountain  or  fresh  shade;" 

and  really  feel  altogether  better. 
But  I  fear  my  trifling  will  be  hardly 
borne  with :  it  is  one  thing  for  a  man 
to  amuse  his  own  idleness ;  but  it  is 
quite  another  matter  to  publish  such 
amusement,  and  be  the  cause  of  idle- 
ness in  others.  However,  in  all  that 
I  have  said,  I  have  kept  the  domes- 
tic virtues  and  all  the  best  feelings  of 
the  mind  in  view;  I  have  not  sought 
to  raise  a  blush  on  the  cheek  of  inno- 
cence, or  to  give  a  pang  to  the  heart 
of  honour;  and  all  I  can  hope  for  is, 
that  the  day  I  have  passed  in  this 
way  may  not  be  designated  a  day  of 
folly,  but  that  there  may  be  found 
at  least  one  who  will  smile,  and  that 
not  contemptuously,  at  A  Tour  round 
my  Parlour. 


TO 


Mr.  Loiterer, 

I  have  suffered  for  some  time 
under  a  grievance  that  I  believe  is 


THE  LOITERER. 

No.  V. 
N.    NEVERMOVE,    Esq. 

often  felt  by  others  as  well  as  myself, 
though.  I  do  not  remember  ever  to 
have  seen  it  complained  of.     I  shall 


mz 


THE    LOITERER. 


not  trouble  you  with  any  account  of 
myself:  suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  am 
companion  to  a  lady  who  is  what  the 
French  call  un  pen  parr enue ;  but  as 
she  has  a  very  large  fortune,  and 
lives  in  good  style,  she  is  admitted 
into  the  most  fashionable  society.  She 
is  naturally  good-natured,  and  has  in 
many  respects  a  great  deal  of  consi- 
deration for  me;  but  unfortunately 
she  has  imbibed  an  idea,  that  in  order 
to  support  her  dignity  properly,  it  is 
necessary  she  should  sometimes  be 
haughty  and  capricious.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  her  natural  kindness  of 
heart  and  gaiety  of  temper  render 
it  very  unpleasant  to  her  to  practise 
this  sort  of  air,  and  that  she  does  it 
merely  for  fear  I  should  otherwise 
forget  the  vast  distance  there  is  be- 
tween us.  From  my  being  of  a  good 
family,  I  am,  generally  speaking,  po- 
litely noticed  by  her  visitors,-  from 
many  of  whom  I  receive  attentions 
which  my  present  situation  does  not 
entitle  me  to  expect.  I  know  that 
my  patroness  is  pleased  with  this, 
and  she  very  often  avails  herself  of 
it  to  take  me  with  her  where  she  vi- 
sits; nay,  I  have  known  her  some- 
times to  accept  of  invitations  which 
she  would  otherwise  have  declined, 
because  she  thinks  they  will  be  agree- 
able to  me.  But  perhaps  after  a 
month  or  two  of  uniform  kindness 
and  attention,  she  is  suddenly  seized 
with  an  apprehension  that  all  this  in- 
dulgence will  make  me  fancy  myself 
her  equal ;  and  in  order  to  convince 
me  of  the  contrary,  she  leaves  me 
behind  when  she  is  going  to  some 
place  to  which  she  knows  I  particu- 
larly wish  to  accompany  her;  or  if 
she  has  company  at  home,  she  de- 
sires I  will  settle  accounts  or  write 
letters  for  her,  instead  of  cominff  as 
usual  into  (he  drawing-room.    If  this 


was  all,  Mr.  Loiterer,  I  should  be 
ashamed  to  complain,  but  unfortu- 
nately it  is  only  a  small  part  of  the 
vexation  which  her  pride  inflicts  up- 
on me.  I  have  known  her  during  a 
whole  month  together  behave  to  me 
with  the  most  marked  indifference, 
and  assume  all  possible  airs  of  supe- 
riority, merely,  as  she  herself  would 
phrase  it,  to  make  me  remember  who 
I  am.  I  cannot  describe  all  the  little- 
nesses which  this  paltry  pride  makes 
her  stoop  to ;  one  of  them,  which  hurts 
me  the  most,  is  talking  at  me:  you 
cannot  conceive  the  pains  she  takes 
to  impress  upon  my  mind  how  fortu- 
nate I  am  in  meeting  with  a  protec- 
tress like  her;  and  how  little  reason 
a  person  in  my  rank  of  life  could  have 
to  expect  so  much  kindness  and  in- 
dulgence from  one  so  greatly  my  su- 
perior. 

In  this  way,  Mr.  Loiterer,  she  goes 
on  till  she  has,  as  she  fancies,  com- 
pletely humbled  me,  and  inspired 
me  with  a  proper  sense  of  her  great 
consequence.  As  soon  as  she  thinks 
she  has  done  that,  she  begins  to  re- 
lax; and  if  I  appear  more  than  usu- 
ally dejected,  she  makes  a  rapid 
transition  from  the  extreme  of  haugh- 
tiness to  the  excess  of  kindness.  If 
I  thought  that  this  tormenting  hu- 
mour proceeded  either  from  malig- 
nity or  ill-temper,  I  should  despair  of 
effecting  a  reformation,  but  I  am  cer- 
tain that  it  is  contrary  to  her  natural 
temper,  and  that  she  forces  herself 
to  exercise  it  merely  from  a  fear  of 
lowering  her  dignity  by  too  much  af- 
fability. Will  you  then,  Mr.  Loiter- 
er, have  the  goodness  to  set  her  right 
on  this  point?  I  know  that  she  has  a 
high  respect  for  your  opinion,  from 
the  circumstance  of  your  noble  de- 
scent; and  if  you  will  have  the  kind- 
ness to  assure  her,  that  affability  is 


THE    LOITERER. 


!63 


the  distinguished  characteristic  of 
true  gentility,  you  will  be  the  means 
of  saving  many  heartaches  to  your 
very  humble  servant, 

Charlotte. 


I  pity  the  situation  of  this  corre- 
spondent, but  I  pity  still  more  that 
of  her  patroness.  In  fact,  I  do  not 
know  a  more  miserable  animal  than  a 
parvenue  struggling  to  keep  up  a 
certain  degree  of  consequence,  and 
dreading  lest  every  deviation  from  a 
haughty  and  artificial  manner  should 
be  considered  as  a  derogation  from 
her  dignity.  If,  however,  these  peo- 
ple had  a  mind  to  create  for  them- 
selves a  degree  of  consequence  which 
mere  riches  can  never  procure,  they 
might  do  it  at  a  much  easier  rate,  by 
behaving  to  those  they  consider  as 
their  inferiors  with  kindness  and  affa- 
bility. I  do  not  mean  that  over- 
strained affability  which  is  itself  the 
greatest  insult  that  can  be  offered  to 
the  person  on  whom  it  is  exercised, 
since  it  is  in  fact  but  another  way  of 
saying,  Is  it  not  very  good  of  me  who 
am  so  much  superior  to  you,  to  take 
all  this  trouble  to  put  you  at  your 
ease?  The  affability  I  mean  is  very 
different  from  this  :  it  is  that  polite, 
natural,  and  easy  manner,  which,  as 
my  correspondent  justly  observes,  is 
one  of  the  characteristics  of  true  gen- 
tility, and  which  never  fails  to  dis- 
tinguish all  those  who  wish  to  be 
considered  as  really  well-bred  peo- 
ple. As  her  patroness  has  an  oppor- 
tunity of  mixing  with  such  people,  I 
recommend  to  her  an  attentive  study 
of  their  behaviour,  and  I  amconvinc- 
ed  she  will  soon  be  cured  of  the  ridi- 
culous fancy,  that  haughty  airs  are 
necessary  to  keep  up  her  conse- 
quence. 

N.N. 


TO    THE    LOITERER. 


Sir, 


People,  generally  speaking, 
complain  of  the  malice  of  mankind, 
and  are  angry  with  their  acquaint- 
ance for  speaking  ill  of  them.  I  have 
a  right  to  quarrel  with  mine  on  the 
contrary  account,  for  all  my  misfor- 
tunes proceed  from  having  too  good 
a  character.  To  explain  this  seem- 
ing enigma,  I  must  tell  you,  that  the 
reputation  I  enjoyed  of  being  one  of 
the  best-humoured  and  best-natured 
men  in  England,  gained  me  the  good 
graces  of  Miss  Alicia  Aigre,  a  young- 
lady  whose  fortune  was  rather  above 
what  I  could  have  aspired  to;  and  as 
she  was  besides  rather  pretty  and  ap- 
parently amiable,  I  gladly  availed 
myself  of  a  hint  which  she  caused 
to  be  given  me  of  her  preference, 
and  we  were  married.  But,  alas! 
Mr.  Loiterer,  I  had  hardly  time  to 
congratulate  myself  on  my  happiness, 
when  I  found  that  I  was  the  most 
miserable  dog  alive.  My  wife,  who 
is  an  adept  in  the  art  of  tormenting, 
chose  me  merely  because  she  wanted 
a  subject  to  exercise  her  talents  up- 
on, and  she  could  find  nobody  else 
on  whom  she  durst  make  such  an  un- 
sparing use  of  them. 

Her  method,  it  must  be  confessed, 
is  rather  singular:  she  docs  not  scold, 
is  not  sullen,  never  has  recourse  to 
the  common  trick  of  fits  or  sickness ; 
her  only  weapon  is  complaint,  and 
with  this  she  continues  to  be  more 
'  formidable  to  a  man  of  my  temper 
I  than  Xantippe  herself;  for  she  ha- 
i  rasses  me  by  finding  perpetual  sub- 
i  jects  of  complaint  against  me,  not  on- 
ly in  every  thing  I  say  or  do,  but 
even  in  things  with  which  I  have  ap- 
parently no  concern.     Thus  it  is  im- 
possible to  keep  her  in  good  humour. 
If  I  stay  at  home,  she  is  sorry  to  see 


264 


THE   LOITERER. 


by  my  gravity  that  home  is  disagree- 
able to  me;  or  she  cannot  help  ob- 
serving, that  it  is  very  singular  I 
should  be  unusually  merry  when  she 
is  out  of  spirits:  she  is  miserable,  and 
she  can  never  be  otherwise  while  she 
sees  that  there  is  no  sort  of  sympa- 
thy between  us.  If  I  go  out,  she  is 
equally  displeased,  because  I  know 
very  well,  she  says,  that  she  does  not 
pass  her  time  like  other  women,  in  vi- 
siting and  amusing  herself;  no,  her 
pleasures  are  all  domestic  ones,  and 
how  can  she  be  happy  with  a  man 
who  neglects  her  so  shamefully? 

These,  sir,  are  her  texts,  and  she 
contrives  to  hold  forth  upon  them 
not  for  an  hour  or  two,  but  sometimes 
for  a  whole  day  together,  and  very 
often  for  a  great  part  of  the  night 
too.  But  besides  these  subjects  of 
complaint,  she  has  many  others:  for 
instance,  if  I  stay  five  minutes  be- 
yond our  usual  hour  of  dinner,  I  am 
sure  to  be  harassed  all  the  rest  of 
the  day  by  sneers  and  inuendos ;  de- 
clarations that  she  was  ill  for  want  of 
food,  since  it  was  impossible  for  any 
one  to  eat  of  a  dinner  so  completely 
spoiled  by  waiting,  and  broad  hints 
that  I  shall  be  sorry  for  my  conduct 
when  I  have  worried  her  out  of  her 
life. 

If  I  take  care  to  be  at  home  in 
time,  I  am  frequently  not  much  bet- 
ter off:  sometimes  my  knock  at  the 
door  has  been  so  loud  as  to  startle 
her,  and  she  is  thrown  into  a  fit  of 
nervous  agitation,  which  furnishes 
ample  matter  of  complaint  for  the 
rest  of  the  day;  or  perhaps  she 
thinks  I  have  not  rubbed  my  feet  suf- 
ficiently, and  in  that  case  her  tender- 
ness of  heart  makes  her  spoil  my 
dinner,  for  she  does  nothing  while  I 
am  at  it,  but  grieve  to  think  of  the 
cruelty  I   am   guilty  of  in    making 


such  a  slave  of  our  poor  housemaid, 
who  ought  to  have  the  strength  of  a 
horse  to  clean  after  me. 

I  have  tried  to  make  a  diversion 
in  my  favour  by  inviting  company  as 
often  as  I  could ;  but  the  temporary 
relief  which  this  expedient  gives  me 
is  dearly  bought  by  the  numerous 
occasions  which  some  part  or  other 
of  my  behaviour,  while  they  are  pre- 
sent, gives  her  to  complain  of  me  af- 
ter they  are  gone.  I  have  tried,  with 
equal  ill  success,  to  correct  her  per- 
verse humour  by  change  of  place, 
but  she  has  the  misfortune  never  to 
be  well  where  she  is.  She  expressed 
a  desire  last  summer  to  spend  some 
time  in  a  part  of  the  country  which 
is  allowed  to  be  one  of  the  loveliest 
spots  in  England.  Before  the  end 
of  the  first  day,  she  thought  I  had 
used  her  extremely  ill  in  bringing 
her  to  a  place  which  wanted  every 
thing  requisite  to  constitute  a  fine 
country;  and  before  the  termination 
of  the  second,  she  had  ascertained 
that  I  brought  her  there  for  no  other 
purpose  but  to  kill  her  with  ennui.  I 
am  not  more  fortunate  in  town :  she 
is  either  distracted  with  the  noise,  or 
moped  to  death  by  the  stillness ;  or 
else  the  air  is  not  good,  or  she  sus- 
pects that  the  neighbourhood  is  no 
better  than  it  should  be;  and  though 
in  all  our  various  migrations,  she  her- 
self always  fixes  the  place  of  our  re- 
sidence, that  does  not  exempt  me 
from  blame,  because,  as  she  very 
obligingly  tells  me,  I  ought  to  have 
known  to  what  objections  the  place 
was  liable. 

Now,  Mr.  Loiterer,  to  come  to  the 
reason  of  my  troubling  you  with  this 
detail.  My  wife,  notwithstanding  her 
tormenting  temper,  is  not  void  of 
sense,  and  I  am  well  assured  would 
never  have  given  such  scope  to  her 


BEAUTY    AND   FASHTON. 


2()5 


humour,  but  from  the  idea  that  my 
love  of  quiet  and  abhorrence  of  giv- 
ing pain  would  permit  her  to  indulge 
it  with  impunity :  but  I  wish  to  be 
permitted  to  tell  her  through  the  me- 
dium of  your  paper,  which  I  know 
she  reads,  that  she  has  fairly  exhaust- 
ed both  my  patience  and  good-hu- 
mour. I  am  resolved  to  pass  the  rest 
of  my  days  in  peace  and  quietness ; 
and  as  I  am  conscious  that  I  give  her 
no  real  reason  to  murmur,  I  declare, 
that  the  first  complaint  she  makes  of 
me  after  the  publication  of  this  let- 
ter, shall  be  the  last  she  will  ever 
have  an  opportunity  of  uttering  to  me. 
As  a  loiterer  must  above  all  things 
value  quiet,  I  hope  that  the  sympa- 
thy between  us  in  that  respect  will 
induce  you  to  oblige,  by  inserting  this 
letter,  your  very  humble  servant, 
Laurence  Lovepeace. 


TO   THE    LOITERER. 

Good  Mr.  Loiterer, 

I  am  a  poor  fellow  who  would 
willingly  become  rich,  that  is  in  an 
honest  way,  if  I  could.  I  have  re- 
ceived such  marks  of  favour  from 
an  heiress  as  I  think  justify  my  pre- 
tending to  her  hand;  but  as  I  wish 
to  proceed  upon  sure  grounds,  I  will 
state  to  you  as  briefly  as  I  can,  for  I 
know  you  don't  like  trouble,  what 
those  grounds  are,  in  the  form  of 
questions,  which  I  hope  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  answer;  for  as 
your  opinion  may  be  the  means  of 
making  my  fortune,  I  trust  you  will 


not  refuse  to  give  it  to  your  most 
obedient, 

Christopher  Cocksure. 

When  Lucilla  rails  before  me 
against  coxcombs,  does  not  that  prove 
that  she  is  indifferent  to  my  rival, 
Tom  Trippit? 

Answer.  No. 

Was  not  her  speaking  to  me  with 
the  greatest  kindness  the  other  day, 
while  she  never  noticed  Tom,  who 
stood  just  beside  me,  a  proof  that 
she  preferred  me  to  him? 

No. 

When  she  said  in  my  presence, 
that  if  ever  she  married  it  should  be 
a  modest  man,  did  not  that  mean  that 
I  was  the  man  of  her  choice? 

No. 

When  she  observed  in  my  hearing, 
that  fortune  was  the  last  thing  she 
should  look  at  in  a  husband,  was  not 
that  plainly  telling  me  to  pay  my  ad- 
dresses to  her? 

No. 

Whether  her  acceptance  of  a  rose 
may  not  (as  she  is  a  great  reader,  and 
of  course  knows  the  Oriental  custom 
of  making  love  by  means  of  flowers,) 
be  considered  as  a  promise  to  marry 
me? 

No. 

Ought  I,  upon  the  strength  of  all 
the  above  -  mentioned  marks  of  en- 
couragement, to  venture  to  bespeak 
my  wedding-clothes? 

No. 

What  answer  may  I  expect  when 
I  plainly  ask  her  to  marry  me? 

No. 


BEAUTY  AND  FASHION:  A  Repartee. 
Sats  Beauty  to  Fashion,  as  they  sat  at  the  toilette, 
"  If  I  give  a  charm,  you  surely  will  spoil  it; 
When  you  take  it  in  hand,  there's  such  murd'ring  and  mangling, 
'Tis  so  metamorphos'd  by  your  fiddling  and  fangling, 
Vol.  II.  No.  XI.  N  n 


zm 


BIlAUTV   and   FASHJOK, 

That  I  scarce  know  my  own  when  I  meet  it  again, 
Such  changelings  you  make,  both  of  women  and  men. 
To  confirm  what  I  say — look  at  Phryne  or  Phillis, 
I'm  sure  that  I  gave  them  good  roses  and  lilies: 
Now,  like  Thisbe  in  Ovid,  one  cannot  come  near  them, 
So  vilely  with  cold  cream  and  rouge  you  besmear  them. 
And  as  to  your  dress,  one  would  think  you  quite  mad — ■ 
From  the  head  to  the  heel,  it  is  all  masquerade; 
With  rouleaus  and  flounces  and  chevaux  defrize, 
Now  sweeping  the  ground,  and  now  up  to  your  knees. 
And  then  you're  so  fickle  that  few  people  mind  you  ; 
For  my  part,  I  never  can  tell  where  to  find  you : 
Now  dress'd  in  a  cap,  now  naked  in  none ; 
^  our  waist  now  unbound,  now  girt  with  a  zone ; 
Now  plain  as  a  Quaker,  now  all  of  a  puff; 
Without  kerchief  now,  and  now  buried  in  ruff: 
Like  the  vane  on  the  tower  that  shews  you  the  weather, 
You're  rarely  the  same  for  two  days  together." 

Thus  Beauty  concluded,  when  Fashion  replied : 
"  Who  does  most  for  the  sex?  Let  it  fairly  be  tried, 
And  they  that  look  round  them  will  presently  see 
They're  much  less  beholden  to  you  than  to  me. 
I  grant  that,  indeed,  mighty  favours  you  boast ; 
But  how  scantly  bestowed,  how  rare  is  a  toast ! 
A  complexion  and  shape  you  confer  now  and  then, 
But  to  one  that  you  give,  you  refuse  it  to  ten. 
In  one  you  succeed,  in  another  you  fail ; 
Here  your  rose  is  too  red,  there  your  lily  too  pale : 
Some  feature  or  other  is  always  amiss ; 
And  pray  let  me  know  when  you  finish'd  a  piece, 
But  I  was  obliged  to  correct  or  touch  over? 
Or  you  never  would  have  either  husband  or  lover : 
For  I  hope,  my  fair  lady,  you  do  not  forget, 
Though  you  find  the  thread,  'tis  I  make  the  net ; 
And  say  what  you  please,  it  must  be  allow'd, 
That  a  woman  is  nothing  unless  d-la-mode; 
Like  diamonds  when  rough  are  the  charms  you  bestow, 
But  mine  are  the  setting  and  polishing  too. 
The  rout,  the  assembly,  and  theatres  tell, 
'Tis  I  form  the  beau  and  finish  the  belle; 
Tis  by  me  that  those  beauties  must  all  be  supplied 
Which  time  has  withdrawn,  or  which  you  have  denied : 
Impartial  to  all,  did  not  /  lend  my  aid, 
Both  Venus  and  Cupid  might  give  up  their  trade, 
And  even  your  ladyship  die  an  old  maid." 

A  nx  R s 


267 


THE  POWER  OF  IMAGINATION. 


About  the  time  when  the  first  ex- 
periments were  made  with  air-bal- 
loons, and  when  this  invention  was 
scarcely  known  in  the  remotest  parts 
of  France,  there  lived  on  his  estate 
in  that  country,  not  far  from  the  fron- 
tier of  Spain,  a  gentleman,  whose 
only  child,  a  lovely  girl  named  Agnes, 
then  about  fourteen  years  old,  was 
afflicted  with  a  mental  malady.  She 
imagined  that  she  was  possessed  by 
a  devil  of  immense  size.  Her  father 
woidd  cheerfully  have  given  half  his 
fortune  to  relieve  his  dearly  beloved 
daughter  from  this  foolish  fancy. 
He  sent  for  the  most  eminent  physi- 
cians from  all  parts  of  the  kingdom, 
and  sought  of  them  relief  for  the 
diseased  mind  of  his  child.  Many 
of  them  confidently  promised  a  cure, 
but  not  one  kept  his  word :  for  though 
her  blooming  complexion  manifested 
not  the  least  symptom  of  illness,  still 
the  remedies  of  these  gentlemen 
were  chiefly  designed  to  invigorate 
her  bodily  health,  which  was  already 
sufficiently  robust.  Meanwhile  poor 
Agnes  still  continued  for  several 
years  to  hold  the  notion  that  she  was 
possessed. 

At  length  the  unhappy  father  was 
recommended  to  seek  the  assistance 
of  a  physician  for  the  mind,  that  is, 
of  one  who  would  devote  his  chief 
attention  to  the  diseased  imagination 
of  his  daughter.  In  compliance  with 
this  rational  counsel,  he  selected  his 
spiritual  adviser,  the  Catholic  minister 
of  the  place :  but,  destitute  as  he  was 
of  mental  resources,  a  more  unfit 
person  could  not  have  been  chosen 
for  this  arduous  duty;  and  sensible 
of  his  incompetence,  he  soon  gave 
up  the  patient. 


A  neighbouring  apothecary  here- 
upon undertook,  with  the  divine  as- 
sistance, to  free  the  disordered  mind 
of  Agnes  from  the  preposterous  idea 
that  she  was  possessed.  He  began 
with  seeking  by  all  possible  means  to 
gain  the  unbounded  confidence  of 
his  patient;  and  in  these  endeavours 
|  he  was  most  cheerfully  seconded  by 
her  parents.  Such  was  their  success, 
that  she  soon  began  to  regard  every 
assertion  of  the  apothecary's  as  un- 
doubted truth  ;  and  instead  of  con- 
sulting her  mother  or  her  father,  as 
she  had  been  accustomed  to  do  on 
every  occasion,  she  now  asked  the 
advice  of  her  friend.  By  means  of 
this  unlimited  confidence,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  convincing  her  of  all  that 
it  was  requisite  for  her  to  believe, 
before  the  original  remedy  to  which 
he  purposed  to  resort  could  produce 
the  desired  effect. 

She  once  told  him  that  the  devil 
who  tormented  her  was  as  tall  as  the 
tallest  giant,  but  very  slim  and  mea- 
gre; that  to  be  sure  he  had  not  done 
growing,  and  would  at  last  be  as  big 
as  the  thickest  end  of  the  trunk  of 
the  prodigious  lime-tree  which  grew 
in  the  court-yard  of  her  father's 
chateau. 

The  apothecary  attentively  noted 
all  these  effusions  of  her  deranged 
mind  in  order  to  avail  himself  for 
her  benefit  of  such  as  best  suited 
his  plan;  nay,  he  even  ventured  with 
the  same  view  to  put  into  her  head 
a  great  deal  more  of  the  like  absur- 
dities. Among  other  things,  he  told 
her  on  different  occasions,  that  from 
the  description  which  she  had  given 
of  her  devil,  he  knew  him  personally; 
that  his  own  daughter  had  once  been 
N  n  2 


268 


THE    POWER    OF   IMAGINATION. 


possessed  by  him;  that  he  usually 
wore  a  silk  taffety  dress,  and  could 
not  endure  the  smoke  of  certain 
drugs  which  he  kept  in  his  shop,  and 
which,  when  laid  on  burning  coals, 
were  transformed  into  a  thick  vapour. 
It  was  not  difficult  by  means  of  this 
smoke  and  certain  exorcisms  with 
which  he  was  acquainted,  to  drive 
such  a  devil  out  of  a  person  in  whom 
he  had  taken  up  his  abode,  so  that 
he  should  fly  through  the  air  with  a 
tremendous  noise,  and  never  more 
return;  and  he  had  himself  in  this 
way  delivered  his  daughter  for  ever 
from  her  troublesome  inmate. 

Acmes  had  not  the  least  doubt  of 
the  truth  of  all  these  fictions ;  for, 
as  we  have  already  observed,  she 
took  every  word  of  her  friend's  for 
gospel.  The  apothecary  now  began 
to  turn  this  confidence  to  account, 
and  the  then  recent  invention  of 
aerostation  furnished  him  with  a  most 
favourable  opportunity  for  doing  so. 
Before  Agnes  had  received  the  slight- 
est intimation  on  the  subject,  he  se- 
cretly made  a  long  balloon  of  taffety, 
in  human  shape,  "  as  tall  as  the  tall- 
est giant,  and  as  big  as  the  thickest 
end  of  the  trunk  of  the  lime-tree  in 
her  father's  court-yard."  He  affixed 
horns  to  the  head  of  this  figure,  and 
cloven  hoofs  to  the  feet:  so  that  the 
whole  had  nearly  the  form  which 
simple  folks  used  to  attribute  to  the 
devil. 

Meanwhile  the  sly  apothecary  had 
so  wrought  upon  the  mind  of  Agnes, 
without  her  being  aware  of  it,  that 
she  urgently  entreated  him  to  deliver 
her  from  the  clutches  of  the  devil, 
whom  he  had  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  drive  out  of  his  daughter.  He 
cheerfully  promised  that  he  would, 
and  kept  in  readiness  his  taffety  de- 
vil, that  is,  the  small  air-balloon  in 


the  shape  of  the  devil,  and  every 
thing  requisite  for  filling  it,  and  for 
its  ascension. 

A  very  sultry  afternoon  was  fixed 
upon  for  the  expulsion  of  the  unclean 
spirit.  A  thunder-storm  might  be 
confidently  expected— a  circumstance 
included  in  the  plan  of  the  apothe- 
cary; for  Agnes  was  so  exceedingly 
alarmed  at  thunder,  that  during  a 
tempest  she  was  scarcely  mistress  of 
her  senses.  It  will  be  recollected 
that  he  had  told  her  that  the  devil 
had  quitted  his  daughter  with  a  tre- 
mendous noise. 

Thunder-clouds  soon  made  their 
appearance  on  the  horizon ;  the  storm 
gathered,  and  the  apothecary,  with 
solemn  look,  began  to  repeat  va- 
rious unmeaning  incantations  over 
his  patient.  He  conducted  her  with 
her  father  into  the  pleasure-grounds 
of  his  chateau,  where  he  had  pre- 
viously suspended  the  air-balloon  be- 
hind a  clump  of  trees  and  shrubs. 
The  taffety  devil  was  not  yet  filled 
with  gas,  but  as  slender  as  Agnes 
had  described  her  familiar  to  be. 
Some  trusty  servants  by  his  desire 
attended  with  chafingdishes  to  fu- 
migate her. 

The  train,  with  Agnes,  whose  ex- 
pectations were  wound  up  to  the 
highest  pitch,  moved  in  slow  and  so- 
lemn procession  in  all  sorts  of  circui- 
tous ways  through  the  extensive 
grounds ;  for  the  apothecary  waited 
in  anxious  suspense  for  the  first  peal 
of  the  approaching  storm.  At  length 
it  rolled  awfully  through  the  atmo- 
sphere. Agnes  trembled  in  every 
joint;  she  thought  nothing  more  cer- 
tain than  that  this  perfectly  natural 
phenomenon  was  occasioned  by  the 
exorcisms  of  her  friend,  and  that  it 
proceeded  immediately  from  her 
demon. 


THE   POWKR    OF    IMAGINATION. 


269 


The  apothecary,  to  keep  up  the 
illusion,  continued  incessantly  repeat- 
ing his  magic  words ;  and  as  soon  af- 
terwards a  second,  more  prolonged 
and  louder,  clap  ensued,  he  led  Agnes 
behind  the  thicket,  where  she  was 
profoundly  shocked  to  recognise  in 
the  balloon  her  slim  familiar  in  his 
tafFety  dress.  The  apothecary  and 
all  the  domestics  marched  resolutely 
up  to  him,  as  if  exulting  in  the  cer- 
tain success  of  their  work,  though 
yet  unfinished.  They  fumigated  the 
horrid  figure  on  all  sides,  and  at  the 
same  time  filled  it  quickly  and  unob- 
served with  gas.  When  completely 
filled,  it  appeared  frightful  and  alarm- 
ing even  to  the  attendants.  While 
Agnes  was  surveying  it  with  horror, 
the  thunder  again  rolled  awfully. 
The  devil  was  instantly  dispatched, 
and  during  the  long  reverberations 
of  the  peal,  it  rose  obliquely  till  al- 
most invisible;  it  was  then  hurried 
rapidly  away  by  the  wind  which  ac- 
companied the  tempest,  and  present- 
ly disappeared. 

Agnes  pursued  its  course  with 
strained  eyes,  and  with  mingled  emo- 
tions of  joy  and  astonishment.  All 
present  loudly  expressed  their  exul- 
tation, and  congratulated  her  on  be- 
ing now  delivered  for  ever  from  the 
evil  spirit.  She  sunk  upon  her  knees, 
and  while  the  tears  trickled  down 
her  cheeks,  returned  thanks  to  God 
for  this  mercy:  she  gratefully  em- 
braced her  friend  the  apothecary,  to 
whom  under  heaven  she  deemed  her- 
self indebted  for  her  relief:  she  fell 
in  a  transport  of  delight  upon  the 
neck  of  her  mother  and  of  her  fa- 
ther: in  short,  the  unhappy  notion 
that  she  was  possessed  by  the  devil 
was  banished  from  her  soul  with  the 
disappearance  of  the  balloon.  Her 
affectionate   parents  deemed  them- 


selves inexpressibly  happy  in  this 
change  wrought  in  their  beloved 
daughter,  and  bestowed  a  princely 
remuneration  on  him  who  had  effect- 
ed her  cure.  The  apothecary,  a  no- 
ble-minded, disinterested  man,  re- 
joiced more  sincerely  in  the  success 
of  his  scheme,  than  in  the  wealth 
that  it  procured  him.  The  servants 
too  shared  his  feelings,  for  Agnes 
was  a  girj  of  excellent  disposition, 
whom  they  had  hitherto  sincerely 
pitied. 

As,  however,  the  doctor  was  not 
without  apprehension  that  the  no- 
tion so  happily  banished  from  her 
mind  might  regain  possession  of  it, 
if  she  should  ever  chance  to  discover 
that  she  had  been  deceived  by  means 
of  a  balloon,  measures  were  taken 
to  keep  the  real  circumstances  of  her 
cure,  if  possible,  secret  from  her  for 
ever. 

Before  the  balloon  was  let  loose, 
a  man  had  been  dispatched  on  horse- 
back in  the  direction  to  which  the 
wind  blew,  to  follow  its  course,  and 
to  pick  it  up  when  it  should  alight. 
The  whole  of  the  servants  were  in- 
duced, partly  by  considerable  gratui- 
ties, and  partly  by  the  motives  of 
reason  and  Christian  philanthropy, 
to  bind  themselves  by  an  oath  never 
to  disclose  to  any  one  the  manner  in 
which  Agnes  was  cured  of  her  mental 
disorder.  This  engagement  they 
faithfully  fulfilled ;  and  they  were  al- 
ways extremely  grave  and  reserved, 
when  inquisitive  persons  endeavoured 
to  fish  out  of  them  the  real  circum- 
stances attending  this  event.  The 
air  of  mystery  thus  thrown  over  the 
affair,  caused  the  public  to  believe 
in  good  earnest  that  Miss  Agnes 
must  really  have  been  possessed  by 
an  evil  spirit.  A  fact  which  served 
lo  corroborate  this  idea  was,  that  se- 


no 


SOME    ACCOUNT    OF    DANNECKER,    THE   SCULPTOR. 


veral  persons  of  veracity,  who  lived 
near  her  father's  grounds,  unani- 
mously declared,  that  "  one  day  dur- 
ing a  thunder-storm  they  saw  an  im- 
mense figure,  in  the  exact  shape  of 
the  devil,  rise  from  those  grounds 
into  the  air;  and  it  was  at  this  very 
time  that  the  young  lady  was  deli- 
vered from  her  infernal  persecutor." 
As  the  apothecary  had  also  about 
the  same  time  been  frequently  seen 
with  Agnes,  he  was  obliged  to  be 
content  to  pass  henceforward, through 
all  the  adjacent  country,  for  a  mighty 
exorcist  and  magician.  This  notion 
he  durst  the  less  contradict,  as  Aij- 
nes  herself  now  and  then  confirmed 
the  good  folks  in  it  by  her  assurances 
that  it  was  solemnly  true. 

The  apothecary  needed  but  to 
have  sent  up  in  public  another  such 
balloon  in  order  fully  to  convince  the 
more  rational  at  least,  that  the  ascent 
of  such  a  body  was  effected  without 
witchcraft,  and  by  perfectly  natural 


means;  but  his  tender  concern  for 
Agnes  induced  him  rather  to  submit 
in  silence  to  the  most  absurd  impu- 
tations of  the  ignorant  vulgar.  The 
benefactor  and  physician  of  the  dis- 
eased mind  of  the  young  lady  was 
regarded  as  a  general  officer  of  Sa- 
tan, whose  commands  the  demon 
which  possessed  Agnes  was  constrain- 
ed to  obey.  In  all  probability  this 
character  would  have  adhered  to  him 
for  life,  had  not  Agnes  a  few  years 
afterwards  died  of  the  small-pox, 
and  thus  the  motive  for  concealing 
the  real  circumstances  of  her  cure 
been  removed.  The  above  notion, 
however,  had  in  a  few  years  struck 
such  deep  root  in  the  minds  of  the 
multitude,  that  it  was  not  to  be  era- 
dicated without  the  greatest  difficul- 
ty. And  what,  we  may  ask,  would 
have  been  the  consequence  had  Ag- 
nes lived,  and  the  apothecary  felt  it 
his  duty  to  continue  to  observe  the 
same  silence  as  at  first  ? 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  DANNECKEK,  THE  SCULPTOR,  AND 
HIS  PRINCIPAL  WORKS. 


John  Henry  Dannecker,  born 
at  Stuttgard  in  Germany  in  1758,  is 
one  of  the  first  sculptors  of  the  pre- 
sent age.  He  began  his  studies  in 
the  school  which  was  established  at 
Stuttgard  by  Duke  Charles  of  Wur- 
temberg,  and  therefore  called  the 
Karls-schule,  and  obtained,  in  his  se- 
venteenth year,  the  first  prize  by  a 
model  of  Milo  of  Crotona.  In  this 
academy  he  became  intimately  ac- 
quainted Avith  Schiller,  whose  admir- 
ed bust  he  afterwards  executed  in 
marble.  Dannecker  and  Schiller  left 
the  academy  in  the  same  year,  1780, 
and  the  former  became  the  duke's 
sculptor,  with  a  yearly  stipend  of  .100 
florins.     In    1783,   he    travelled   on 


i  foot  to  Paris,  to  prosecute  his  studies, 
!  and  passed  two  years  in  that  capital, 
whence  he  proceeded  on  foot  to 
Rome.  There  the  great  Canova's 
friendship  raised  his  talents,  and  he 
began  his  first  works  in  marble,  his 
Ceres  and  his  Bacchus.  The  suc- 
cess of  these  highly  finished  statues 
caused  him  to  be  elected  a  member 
of  the  academies  of  Milan  and  Bo- 
logna. 

After  a  residence  of  five  years  at 
Rome,  he  left  Italy  and  returned  to 
Stuttgard,  where  the  duke  named 
him  professor  of  the  fine  arts.  The 
first  work  he  finished  there,  was  a 
young  Lad?/  weeping  for  her  Bird. 
This  fine  production  was  followed  by 


VERSES  TO  RE  UN  AKD  RARTON. 


271 


the  models  of  a.  Minerva  and  an  Alex- 
ander. In  179G,  he  began  his  Sap- 
pho in  marble,  now  at  Monrepos, 
and  Mourning  Friendship,  a  monu- 
ment for  the  duke's  friend,  Count 
Zeppelin,  erected  in  the  park  of 
Ludwigsburg,  and  esteemed  as  a 
work  of  the  highest  merit.  During 
the  execution  of  this  statue,  Dan- 
necker  conceived  the  first  idea  of  his 
immortal  Ariadne,  which  he  began 
immediately. 

About  this  period  he  commenced 
several  busts  in  marble,  highly  fi- 
nished, and  considered  as  the  happi- 
est productions  in  this  branch  of  the 
arts :  among  these  are  two  busts  of 
Schiller,  one  of  which  he  executed 
of  colossal  size,  after  the  death  of 
his  friend;  and  this  bust,  which  he 
will  not  part  from,  adorns  his  galle- 
ry: also  the  bust  of  the  Archduke 
Charles  of  Austria,  in  Carrara  mar- 
ble ;  that  of  Gluck,  of  Frederic  the 
Victorious,  &c. 

In  1808,  he  began  his  Ariadne  in 
marble.  She  is  represented  as  the 
bride  of  Bacchus,  sitting  on  a  pan- 
ther, expecting  the  god.  In  1816, 
this  chef-d'oeuvre  was  finished,  and 
came  into  the  possession  of  Mr. 
Bethmann  of  Francfort.  In  1812, 
Dannecker  commenced  his  Cupid  for 
theKingofWurtemberg:andin  1S14, 
a  Psyche,  now  in  the  possession  of ) 
an  eminent  friend  to  the  fine  arts,  the 
English  General  Murray.    An  exact 


copy  of  his  Psyche  is  now  nearly  fi- 
nished, and  is  intended  as  a  compa- 
nion to  the  Cupid  belonging  to  the 
King  of  Wurtemberg.  He  is  also 
executing  a  bust  of  the  Russian  Ge- 
neral Benkendorf,  and  a  monument 
for  the  late  Duke  of  Oldenburg,  re- 
presenting a  female  figure,  in  Car- 
rara marble :  these  are  nearly  finished. 

Notwithstanding  the  high  degree 
of  genius  and  perfection  manifested 
in  all  these  works,  they  are  surpass- 
ed by  his  Christ.  This  colossal  mar- 
ble figure  is  now  nearly  completed. 
The  artist  represents  our  Saviour 
preaching  in  the  Wilderness :  the 
expression  of  his  features  is  that  of  the 
Mediator  between  God  and  man.  The 
divine  nature  of  Jesus  was  never  bet- 
ter expressed.  The  left  hand  is  ele- 
vated, and  the  right  points  to  the 
breast.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
Dannecker  has  bestowed  more  time 
and  study  upon  this,  than  upon  any 
of  his  former  works. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  may  be  said 
that  Dannecker's  genius  is  most  con- 
genial to  that  of  the  ancient  masters ; 
and  that  his  works  are  replete  with 
simplicity,  truth,  nature,  and  life. 

This  eminent  artist  is  beloved  by 
every  one  who  knows  him,  for  the 
candour,  simplicity,  and  kindness  of 
his  character  and  manners.  Canova, 
a  few  years  before  his  death,  rightly 
named  this  his  old  friend  "  il  beato." 

D.  A. 


VERSES 

Suggested  by  a  Seal  belonging  to  Bernard  Barton,  ike  Poet,  the  Device  of  which 
is  a  Harp,  with  the  Motto,  "  Dear  though  unrewarded;"  and  addressed  to  him 
by  his  Friend,  the  Rev.  W.  B.  Clarke. 

Yes  !   "  dear"  by  Friendship's  faithful  voice, 

By  lips  that  lisp  of  thee, 
By  judgment's  calm  unbiass'd  choice, 

Tlrv  love  of  sons'  must  be! 


272  VERSES   TO    BERNARD    BARTON. 

And  "  dear"  by  days  of  quiet  thought, 
And  dreams  into  thy  slumbers  wrought 

By  Fancy's  magic  skill ; 
By  morning  walks,  before  the  sun 
Night's  latest  citadel  had  won, 

Upon  thy  fav'rite  hill ! 

By  ev'ning  rambles  on  the  shore 

Of  Deben's  silv'ry  flood ; 
By  musings,  when  the  tempest's  roar 

Was  grateful  to  thy  mood, 
And  midnight  winds  their  concert  saner 
Around  thee,  till  thy  windows  rang 

With  sounds  that  told  of  fear, 
And,  call'd  o'er  ocean  by  the  gale, 
Thy  thoughts  were  with  some  shatter'd  sail 

That  saw  no  haven  near ! 

Oh!  doubly  "  dear "  if,  whilst  thy  soul 

Was  rapt  to  climes  of  song, 
Some  tender  words  upon  thee  stole 

From  gentle  woman's  tongue ; 
Some  gratulating  sounds  confest 
That  there  were  feelings  in  her  breast 

Which  liv'd  upon  thy  strain : 
For  this,  indeed,  might  win  a  bard,  N 

The  world's  despite  to  disregard, 

And  deem  its  coldness  vain ! 

But  what  if  "  unrewarded"  be 

Thy  pensive  numbers  still ; 
Not  less  delightful  unto  thee 

These  trials  of  thy  skill. 
Who  loves  the  mountain  snowdrop  less, 
Who  scorns  the  "  primrose  pale"  to  bless, 

Because  no  fruit  they  bear? 
Who  deems  the  infant's  cheek  not  sweet, 
Though,  slumbering  in  its  winding-sheet, 

The  hues  of  death  it  wear  ? 

Oh !  keep  thou  on  thy  quiet  way, 

Though  recompence  be  brief! 
Oft  chilling  winds  in  April's  day 

Will  nip  the  budding  leaf; 
But  after-hours,  more  warm  and  bright, 
The  injured  promise  may  requite ; 

And  on  the  garden-bower, 
When  summer  suns  have  shed  their  beams, 
And  gladness  through  the  still  air  streams, 

Be  seen  the  full-blown  flower. 


VERSES  TO    BERNARD   BARTON.  Z1& 

Yes !  keep  thou  on  thy  way  of  love, 

And  wake  thy  pensive  strain! 
Though  few  thy  numbers  should  approve, 

Thou  hast  not  liv'd  in  vain ; 
For  better  'tis  to  win  their  praise 
Who  feel  the  spirit  of  thy  lays, 

Than  win  a  world's  applause, 
Whose  welcome,  like  a  winter's  noon, 
Bursts  out  in  warmth,  and  then  too  soon 

Its  influence  withdraws ! 

The  world,  alas !  but  little  heeds 

A  poet's  hopes  and  fears  ! 
Though  piere'd  by  want,  his  bosom  bleeds, 

No  present  help  appears : 
But  still  may  he  amidst  his  pain 
Look  up,  like  pilgrim  on  the  plain 

Of  Syria's  desert  sand, 
Assur'd  that  future  hours  shall  bring 
His  footsteps  to  the  cheering  spring 

In  Hope's  long-promis'd  land. 

And  thou  hast  won  that  holy  well, 

And  freely  may'st  thou  sip : 
Some  are  there  (in  whose  hearts  to  dwell 

Is  thy  best  suretiship, 
That  thou  in  vain  hast  not  essay'd), 
Who  in  their  minds  a  shrine  have  made, 

To  treasure  up  thy  name ; 
And  this  may  recompense  the  toil, 
And  daily  care  and  nightly  oil, 

That  fed  thy  early  fame. 

Rewarded  art  thou,  if  the  smile 

Of  sympathy  repay  ; 
If  commendation  can  beguile  , 

From  hopelessness  away. 
Thou  bear'st  requital  in  thy  heart, 
Rewards  more  pow'rful  to  impart 

Than  kings  themselves  could  give ; 
A  recompence  that  cannot  cease, 
The  conscience  of  a  mind  at  peace, 

Contentment  that  must  live ! 

And  what  can  Fortune  like  to  this 

'Midst  all  her  treasures  find  ? 
Since  reason  holds  the  greatest  bliss, 

A  self-approving  mind. 
Then  walk  thou  in  thy  quiet  way : 
Though  clouded  be  thy  winter-day, 
Vol.  II.  No.  XL  O  o 


274 


THE    WIDOW    OF    MILAN. 


Thy  sun  shall  shine  on  high ; 
Rememb'ring,  though  upon  the  ground 
Thy  nest  too,  like  the  lark's,  is  found, 

Thy  song  is  in  the  sky ! 


GHOST    STORIES.— No.  II. 

THE    WIDOW   OF    MILAN. 


During  the  reign  of  Ludovico 
Sforza,  Duke  of  Milan,  there  lived 
near  the  palace  of  that  prince  a 
wealthy  widow,  of  the  latter  years 
of  whose  life  history  records  nothing 
more,  than  that,  like  other  good- 
natured  matrons,  she  slept,  ate,  and 
drank  day  after  day ;  and  that  she  de- 
lighted, by  way  of  pastime,  to  entice 
the  duke's  peacocks,  dogs,  apes,  and 
other  animals,  and  to  regale  them 
with  dainties.  At  length  it  so  hap- 
pened that  she  died  one  clay,  to  the 
great  regret  of  these  animals,  whose 
best  friend  she  was.  The  chamber 
in  which  she  expired  was  on  the  first 
floor.  The  corpse  was  removed  to 
a  lower  room,  and  thence  conveyed 
in  great  pomp  to  the  place  of  inter- 
ment. In  her  lifetime  she  had  been 
a  liberal  benefactress  to  the  church, 
and  even  endowed  a  spiritual  foun- 
dation. The  church  therefore  styled 
her  a  pious  woman ;  and  numbers  of 
priests  and  monks  escorted  her  re- 
mains to  the  grave. 

Scarcely  had  the  dame's  body  been 
deposited  in  the  cool  bosom  of  mo- 
ther earth,  scarcely  had  the  long 
procession  returned  to  feast  upon 
the  good  things  provided  for  an  en- 
tertainment in  honour  of  the  deceas- 
ed, when  all  these  savoury  prospects 
were  suddenly  blasted.  Just  as  the 
company  had  entered,  the  old  lady's 
two  damsels,  who  had  gone  for  some- 
thing or  other  into  the  room  where 
she  died,  came  running  down  stairs 
with  the  most  piercing  shrieks  to  the 


guests,  who  were  just  preparing  for 
a  general  assault  upon  the  good  cheer 
that  covered  the  table.  After  the 
girls  had  somewhat  lightened  their 
hearts  by  what  is  commonly  called 
"  a  good  cry,"  and  had  left  the  inqui- 
sitive strangers  long  enough  in  sus- 
pense as  to  what  had  befallen  them, 
they  related  to  the  worthy  company 
in  incoherent  sentences,  interrupted 
by  many  a  heavy  sigh — that  their 
mistress,  who  had  been  but  just  buri- 
ed, was  lying  exactly  as  she  used  to 
do,  in  the  bed  in  her  chamber. 

The  most  courageous  of  the  party 
ventured  to  question  the  truth  of 
this  statement,  and  hastened  up  stairs 
to  satisfy  their  doubts.  Their  looks 
as  they  entered  the  room  were  direct- 
ed to  the  bed,  and  they  exclaimed, 
"  Jesus!  Maria!  there  indeed  she  is 
again  already!" — Their  blood  curdled 
while  they  convinced  themselves  with 
their  own  eyes  that  it  was  no  illusion. 
The  more  timid  had  followed  them 
at  a  little  distance,  and  they  had 
abundant  reason  to  hurry  back,  lest 
they  should  be  run  over  by  their  pre- 
decessors, who  retreated  in  not  the 
best  possible  order.  The  uproar, 
which  was  previously  great  enough, 
had  now  reached  its  height.  Every 
face  expressed  the  utmost  astonish- 
ment and  consternation,  and  those 
of  the  monks  in  particular  manifest- 
ed a  pious  horror  of  this  artifice  of 
the  devil.  They  prepared  themselves 
by  many  a  hasty  Ave  Maria,  and  a 
thousand  other  effusions  of  super- 


THE    WIDOW    OF    MILAN. 


27.5 


stition,  for  the  spiritual  conflict  with 
the  foul  fiend;  and  not  a  layman  felt 
the  least  inclination  to  mount  with 
unhallowed  foot  to  the  haunted  cham- 
ber. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
there  was  not  a  soul  in  the  city  but 
had  heard  of  the  miraculous  occur- 
rence, and  the  concourse  of  people 
who  thronged  to  the  house,  increas- 
ed every  moment.  Some  observed 
they  had  long  thought  the  widow 
must  be  on  good  terms  with  the  Black 
One,  otherwise  she  could  not  have 
been  so  inordinately  fond  of  the 
duke's  animals.  Others,  judging  less 
uncharitably,  conjectured  that  the  de- 
vil might  have  other  reasons  for  play- 
ing this  scurvy  trick;  and  that  though 
she  had  died  in  the  odour  of  sancti- 
ty, there  might  be  some  secret  pec- 
cadillo, for  which  he  was  spitefully 
come  to  attach  disgrace  to  her  me- 
mory. All,  however,  agreed  in  the 
propriety  o  {'soliciting  thewhole  neigh- 
bouring convent  to  assist  the  ecclesi- 
astics who  were  present  in  expelling 
the  unwelcome  guest  by  prayer  and 
exorcisms.  This  was  immediately 
done.  All  the  shaven  heads  assem- 
bled, and  repaired  in  procession  to 
the  haunted  house,  headed  by  the 
confessor  of  the  deseased  carrying  a 
golden  cross,  while  a  monk  bearing 
the  holy- water  vessel  closed  the  pious 
train. 

In  this  order  they  proceeded,  not 
without  palpitating  hearts,  up  stairs 
to  the  chamber,  in  order  to  dispossess 
the  spectre  by  force  of  sacred  arms 
of  the  bed  which  it  had  so  uncere- 
moniously occupied.  What  a  spec- 
tacle presented  itself  to  their  view ! 
There  lay  the  widow,  whom  they 
had  just  buried,  in  her  best  cap,  but 
with  distorted  features  and  small 
sparkling  eyes,   and  gave  the  holy 


I  throng  a  reception  that  was  any  thing 
j  but  courteous.  They  started,  and 
were  on  the  point  of  retreating;  but 
I  screwing  their  courage  to  the  stick- 
!  m»  point,  they  commenced  the  so- 
I  lemn  farce  of  exorcism. 

The  spectre  meanwhile  seemed  to 
j  gaze  with  composure  at  the  general 
!  bustle,  and  made  no  motion  to  quit 
either  the  bed  or  the  house.  It  fix- 
ed its  eyes  particularly  on  the  well- 
fed  brother  who,  with  the  holy-wa- 
ter-sprinkler, was  dispensing  the  sa- 
cred fluid  among  the  multitude.  As 
he,  however,  whether  accidentally 
or  wilfully,  weare  not  informed,  sprin- 
kled a  few  drops  over  the  face  of  the 
venerable  matron,  she  pursed  up  her 
lips  in  a  frightful  manner,  gnashed 
her  teeth,  and  manifested  symptoms 
of  a  disposition  to  retaliate.  The 
exorcising  gentry  were  overwhelmed 
with  horror  and  trepidation  when 
they  observed  the  movement  of  the 
bed-clothes,  and  thence  inferred  an 
approaching  conflict  with  the  infer- 
nal spirit.  Unprepared  for  this  at- 
tack, and  confounded  by  the  ill  suc- 
cess of  their  incantations,  they  felt  no 
call  whatever  to  engage  Old  Hornie, 
or  any  of  his  imps,  and  fled  with  the 
utmost  precipitation.  With  screams 
of  terror  they  rushed  out  of  the  room, 
and  as  every  one  was  eager  to  get 
out  first,  and  escape  to  a  place  of 
safety,  the  huge  belly  of  many  a 
portly  monk  received  no  very  gentle 
squeeze  in  the  door-way. 

As  the  devil,  in  the  shape  of  the 
inhumed  matron,  seemed  to  bear  the 
corpulent  holy-water-sprinkler  a  par- 
ticular grudge,  he  took  care  to  be 
first  on  the  stairs ;  and  in  his  hurry,  de- 
scending two  or  three  steps  at  a  time, 
with  the  vessel  in  his  hand,  all  at 
once  down  he  tumbled  with  a  tre- 
mendous crash.  The  rest,  who  fol- 
O  o  2 


276 


LHAUDA. 


lowed  with  no  less  precipitation, 
stumbled  over  him,  and  many  a  bro- 
ken head  and  bloody  nose  was  the 
consequence.  As,  however,  there  is 
no  ill  luck  without  its  attendant  jiood 
luck ;  so,  in  this  case,  fortunately  for 
the  holy  crew,  not  one  of  them  broke 
his  neck. 

Scarcely  had  the  terrified  and 
bleeding  gentry  picked  themselves 
up,  when  the  spectre  likewise  de- 
scended the  stairs,  but  with  greater 
deliberation,  and,  in  the  head-dress  of 
the  deceased  widow,  entered  the  room 
where  they  were  complaining  of  their 
wounds  and  contusions.  At  the  first 
moment  all  stood  aghast;  but  pre- 
sently their  consternation  subsided : 
deep  shame  was  seen  to  take  its  place 
in  the  countenance  of  every  monk ; 
while  peals  of  laughter  burst  from 
the  surrounding  crowd  of  spectators. 

The  supposed  spirit  was  no  other 
than  Mardi,  a  handsome  ape  of  the 
duke's,  who  had  occasioned  all  this 
scandal,  and  now  gravely  marched 
forth  in  the  paraphernalia  of  his  de- 


ceased benefactress.  It  is  probable 
that,  during  the  funeral,  he  had  sought 
her  in  her  chamber,  where  he  had 
received  so  many  tit-bits  from  her 
hands.  But  instead  of  his  friend,  he 
found  merely  her  head-dress,  which 
he  put  on,  and  then  regaled  himself 
with  the  funeral  cake,  which  was 
missed,  and  some  fragments  of  which 
were  afterwards  found  in  the  bed. 
He  had  most  likely  overloaded  his 
stomach,  and  needed  repose  for  the 
better  digestion  of  the  cake ;  or  he 
might  even  have  had  an  obscure  feel- 
ino-  of  sorrow  for  the  loss  of  his  friend. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  he  lay  down  in  her 
cap,  and  covered  himself  up  to  the 
chin  in  the  bed-clothes  to  take  his 
siesta.  His  nap  was  unluckily  dis- 
turbed by  the  officious  gentry  with 
their  rosaries  and  holy  water,  who 
roused  him  to  prove  unintentionally 
to  the  public,  that  even  the  ludicrous 
tricks  of  an  ape  may  make  egregious 
fools  of  numbers  of  men  endowed 
with  reason. 


LHAUDA:  An  Historical  Tale. 


About  the  middle  of  the  17th  cen- 
tury, there  lived  at  the  village  of  Ba- 
chet,  near  Meylan,  two  leagues  from 
Grenoble,  a  young  shepherdess,  nam- 
ed Claudine  Mignot,  but  commonly 
called,  according  to  the  custom  of 
that  country,  Lhauda.  She  was  vir- 
tuous and  modest ;  her  features  were 
regular  and  animated;  her  complexion 
was  tinged  with  the  glow  of  health, 
and  her  figure  elegant  and  captivat- 
ing. Janin,  secretary  to  Baron  d'Am- 
plerieux,  the  lord  of  Bachet,  saw 
Lhauda,  and  became  enamoured  of 
her ;  nor  was  he  disagreeable  to  the 
damsel.  He,  however,  was  accus- 
tomed to  easy  victories,  and  seemed 


to  seek  in  Claudine  rather  a  mistress 
than  a  partner  for  life.  Though  she 
was  young  and  inexperienced,  yet 
she  soon  perceived  that  her  lover's 
intentions  were  not  the  most  honour- 
able ;  and  vanity  came  to  the  aid  of 
virtue,  to  protect  her  against  his  se- 
ductive designs.  "  Why  does  he 
tarry  so  long,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  if 
he  really  has  a  mind  to  marry  me?  I 
am  fifteen,  indeed  I  might  say  six- 
teen years  old.  I  see  that  younger, 
plainer  girls,  neither  so  strong  nor  so 
clever  as  I  am,  obtain  husbands. 
Perhaps  Janin  supposes  I  should  not 
find  another  besides  him.  Why,  I 
should  but  have  to  pick  and  choose. 


LJIAUDA. 


277 


Whenever  the  young  lads  see  me, 
one  brings  me  roses,  another  violets, 
and  a  third  a  ribbon — in  short,  they 
are  all  anxious  to  please  me.  Janin 
must  mind  how  he  behaves:  I  am 
tired  of  waiting,  and  have  a  good 
mind  to  take  the  first  likely  lad  that 
offers." 

Claudine's  love  for  Janin  seemed 
to  cool  from  day  to  day.  The  more 
attention  he  paid  her,  the  less  was 
she  disposed  to  forgive  the  evasions 
by  which  he  strove  to  defer  their 
union.  He  observed  with  what  com- 
placency she  listened  on  different  oc- 
casions to  the  young  villagers:  he 
grew  jealous,  complained,  and  re- 
ceived a  sharp  answer.  "  Why," 
said  he,  "  I  only  wish  to  prolong  the 
spring-time  of  our  love :  the  summer 
must  come  at  last.  May  I  solicit  thy 
hand  of  thy  parents'?" — "I  must  obey 
my  parents;  that  is  the  duty  of  a 
daughter,"  answered  she  with  down- 
cast looks.  He  indulged  a  hope  that 
the  ties  of  matrimony  would  draw 
nearer  to  him  the  heart  which  he 
seemed  to  have  lost;  and  the  very 
same  day  he  applied  to  Pierro  and 
Thievena  for  the  hand  of  their  daugh- 
ter. Claudine's  father  gave  his  as- 
sent; he  was  fond  of  Janin.  Thie- 
vena seemed  to  coincide  with  the 
wish  of  her  husband.  Janin  hasten- 
ed away  to  make  preparations  for  the 
nuptials,  and  to  provide  the  presents 
which  he  designed  to  make  to  his 
fair  bride.  When  Pierro  was  alone 
with  his  wife,  he  began  to  sound  Ja- 
mil's praise.  "  The  young  man," 
said  he,  "  is  somewhat  spoiled  to  be 
sure  by  associating  with  gentlemen, 
and  especially  with  him  in  whose  ser- 
vice he  is ;  but  he  is  an  excellent 
match  for  our  Claudine :  he  has  four 
pair  of  oxen  and  a  fine  flock  of  sheep: 
his  fields  and  his  vineyard  supply  him 


with  more  corn  and  wine  than  are 
required  to  support  a  wife  and  chil- 
dren, if  heaven  should  send  him  ever 
so  many.  They  will  have  it  in  their 
power  to  do  something  for  us  if  we 
need  it.  The  only  fault  I  have  to  find 
with  him  is,  that  he  seems  rather  too 
genteel  for  our  daughter." — "  Too 
genteel !  a  secretary  too  genteel  for- 
sooth!" replied  Thievena:  "  for  my 
part  I  think  him  too  clownish.  Our 
Claudine  deserves  to  be  the  wife  of 
a  king—yes,  of  a  king !  Hast  thou 
forgot  that  I  had  her  fortune  told 
when  she  was  born,  and  that  the  gip- 
sy-woman assured  me  the  child 
would  some  day  or  other  be  a  queen 
— aye,  a  queen." — "  Ah,  wife !  say 
no  more  about  thy  silly  prophecies ! 
Janin  is  the  best  match  in  the  village 
— or  dost  thou  know  a  better?" — 
"  If  I  did,"  rejoined  Thievena,  "  I 
should  not  have  held  my  tongue 
when  Janin  proposed  for  her — no, 
that  I  should  not."—"  Not  have  held 
thy  tongue  indeed!"  muttered  Pierro, 
as  he  left  the  cottage. 

The  enamoured  Janin  now  made 
the  requisite  preparations  for  the 
nuptials  with  as  much  dispatch  as  he 
had  before  shewn  backwardness. 
Lhauda  seemed  neither  pleased  nor 
dissatisfied,  but  manifested  the  same 
indifference  as  if  she  had  been  any 
other  than  the  bride.  Among  other 
formalities,  Janin  deemed  it  his  du- 
ty to  present  Claudine  to  M.  d'Am- 
plerieux,  and  to  request  him  to  sub- 
scribe the  marriage-contract.  This 
gentleman,  who  was  no  longer  young, 
but  possessed  a  large  fortune,  had 
passed  his  early  years  at  court,  in  the 
mazes  of  high  life  and  of  gallantry, 
and  had  quitted  the  world  at  the  mo- 
ment when  it  forsook  him,  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  his  days  in  philo- 
sophic retirement.     He  had  heard 


278 


LI1AUDA. 


high  encomiums  on  Lhauda's  charms. 
The  reception  of  the  young  country- 
girl  at  the  castle  of  Amplerieux  was 
more  flattering  than  she  could  have 
wished.  The  baron  was  enchanted 
by  her  beauty,  praised  the  taste  of 
his  fortunate  secretary,  and  paid  the 
most  marked  attentions  to  his  lovely 
bride.  Claudine  and  Thievena  re- 
turned home  cpiite  transported  with 
the  condescension  of  M.  d' Ample- 
rieux. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the 
baron  sent  for  Janin.  "  Your  bride," 
said  he,  "  is  too  handsome  to  wear 
the  coarse  ornaments  customary  in 
this  village ;  I  will  undertake  to  pro- 
vide the  jewels  for  her  wedding  at- 
tire. As  for  you,  I  want  you  to  re- 
pair to-morrow  in  all  haste  to  Lyons, 
where  I  have  business  which  requires 
your  presence.  Your  love  to  Clau- 
dine assures  me  that  you  will  lose  no 
time  in  performing  it,  for  till  then 
your  union  must  be  deferred."  This 
command  filled  Janin  with  mingled 
joy  and  mortification.  His  happiness 
was  delayed,  but  the  commission  was 
an  honourable  proof  of  the  confi- 
dence which  M.  d' Amplerieux  re- 
posed in  him,  and  of  the  interest 
which  he  felt  for  Claudine.  Next 
morning  he  informed  the  bride  and 
her  parents  of  the  errand  on  which 
he  was  obliged  to  go.  Thievena  and 
her  daughter  seemed  rather  to  re- 
joice at,  than  to  regret  the  circum- 
stance ;  and  Janin  set  out  in  the 
greatest  uneasiness  at  a  parting,  the 
coldness  of  which  formed  so  strong 
a  contrast  with  the  ardour  of  his  own 
feelings. 

The  day  after  Janin's  departure 
for  Lyons,  a  scene,  such  as  the  old- 
est villagers  had  never  witnessed,  was 
exhibited  at  the  village  of  Bachet: 
the  owner  of  the  castle,  namelv,  a 


gentleman  and  a  courtier,  paid  a  vi- 
sit,to  the  cottage  of  a  poor  peasant. 
He  found  Lhauda  and  her  mother  at 
home;  Pierro  was  at  work  in  the 
vineyard.  At  the  sight  of  M.  d1 Am- 
plerieux, Thievena  was  so  astounded, 
that  she  knew  not  what  she  did;  and 
Claudine  blushed,  not  so  much  from 
modesty  as  vanity.  In  their  anxiety 
to  prove  themselves  worthy  by  their 
attention  of  so  distinguished  an  ho- 
nour, pots,  spinning-wheels,  stools, 
and  other  articles  which  covered  the 
floor,  were  thrown  pell-mell  upon 
one  another.  The  polite  visitor  seem- 
ed not  to  notice  the  confusion;  he 
seated  himself  on  the  only  chair  that 
was  left  on  its  legs,  and  when  Clau- 
dine and  her  mother  had  somewhat 
recovered  from  their  trepidation,  he 
thus  spoke:  "  If  I  possessed  a  scep- 
tre, a  royal  crown,  all  the  power  and 
all  the  riches  of  the  earth,  I  could 
not  help  sacrificing  them  at  the 
shrine  of  beauty ;  for  to  beauty  be- 
long of  right  all  hearts,  all  minds,  all 
wealth,  and  all  crowns." — "  Yes  in- 
deed, all  crowns!"  repeated  the  mo- 
ther, glancing  at  Lhauda's  nymph- 
like figure. — "  I  have  nothing,"  con- 
tinued the  baron,  "  but  a  castle,  a 
few  houses,  some  thousand  acres  of 
land,  vineyards,  forests,  rich  pas- 
tures, and  numerous  flocks;  but  the 
little  I  possess  I  am  ready  to  lay  at 
the  feet  of  the  fair  Lhauda." 

Mother  and  daughter  looked  at 
each  other,  and  knew  not  what  an- 
swer to  make.  By  what  miracle 
could  a  man  of  such  rank  have  been 
induced  to  propose  marriage  to  a 
poor  humble  country-girl?  D' Am- 
plerieux guessed  the  cause  of  their 
silence,  and  thus  proceeded :  "  Janin, 
my  secretary, loves  thee,  fair  Lhauda: 
unworthy  as  he  is  in  point  of  birth 
and  property  to  call  so  many  charms 


LHAUDA. 


cm 


his  own,  still  the  thought  of  parting 
you  would  not  have  come  into  my 
mind,  if  thy  heart  had  shared  the 
feelings  of  his:  for  love  is  always  the 
price  of  love;  it  supplies  the  want  of 
every  thing  else,  though  nothing  can 
make  amends  for  the  want  of  it.  But 
Janin  himself  told  me  in  what  manner 
he  deservedly  lost  thy  love;  and  I 
thought  yesterday  that  I  perceived 
he  had  lost  it  for  ever.  Thy  heart 
is  free.  Were  my  intentions  less 
pure,  I  would  let  thee  marry  my  se- 
cretary, and  then  I  might  perhaps 
hope  that  his  levity,  time,  my  atten- 
tions  But  no,  it  is  not  at  such 

a  price  that  I  would  gain  the  beauti- 
ful and  the  virtuous  Claudine.  The 
idea  of  seeing  her  in  my  castle  trans- 
ports me;  but  it  is  only  by  my  name 
that  she  shall  appear  there." 

Thus  spoke  M.  d'Amplerieux,  and 
retired,  saying  that  he  would  call 
again  the  next  day  for  Claudine's  an- 
swer. "  Remember,"  added  he, 
raising  her  hand  to  his  lips,  "  that 
thy  fate  and  mine  depends  on  thy 
decision." 

Nosoonerwas  Thievena  alone  with 
her  daughter,  than  she  clasped  her 
in  her  arms,  and  strained  her  to  her 
bosom.  "  At  length,"  cried  she,  "  my 
dear  Lhauda,  the  gipsy's  prophecy 
begins  to  be  accomplished.  Thou 
art  indeed  not  yet  a  queen — but  a 
lady,  yes,  a  grand  lady  J" — Claudine 
seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought. — 
"  What !"  said  her  mother,  "  canst 
thou  still  think  of  that  Janin  who 
put  thee  off  so  long,  and  honours 
only  because  he  could  not  dishonour 
thee  ?" — "  I  am  not  concerned  about 
Janin,"  said  the  girl;  "I  have  ceased 
to  love  him:  but  he  is  young,  and 
the  baron  is  not." — "  Neither  was 
thy  father  young  when  I  married 
him,  and  yet  we  were  happy.     Ah !  {i 


my  dear  Claudine,  what  a  triumph 
for  thee  to  sit  at  church  in  the  ba- 
ron's pew !  Whenever  thou  passest 
along,  the  cry  will  be,  There  is  Ma- 
dame d'Amplerieux! — Who  comes 
there?  Why,  Madame  d'Amplerieux 
— Make  room  for  Madame  d'Ample- 
rieux!— Long  live  Madame  d'Am- 
plerieux! And  then  what  an  honour 
forme  to  say,  Madame  d'Amplerieux, 
my  daughter!  No  more  toiling  and 
moiling,  no  fear  of  bad  weather,  no 
apprehension  of  winter!  A  rousing 
fire  and  plenty  of  good  cheer !  We 
shall  all  live  ten  years  the  longer  at 
least,  that  is  to  say,  in  case  the  sud- 
den joy  does  not  kill  me.  Not  a 
minute  more  shall  thy  good  fortune 
be  deferred.  Come,  let's  seek  thy 
father,  to  tell  him  that  thou  art  queen 
of  Amplerieux  —  pshaw !  baroness 
d'Amplerieux  I  would  say." 

As  soon  as  honest  Pierro  had 
heard  his  wife's  story,  "  Silly  woman!" 
cried  he  angrily,  "  I  would  have  a 
son-in-law  at  whose  table  I  could  sit 
down  without  a  world  of  compli- 
ments, and  who  could  take  his  place 
at  mine  without  blushing.  It  would 
become  thy  daughter  indeed  to  ex- 
change her  stuff  gown  for  silks  and 
velvet!  Let  her  marry  a  man  of  qua- 
lity, and  she  will  soon  learn  to  de- 
spise every  thing  that  has  hitherto 
been  her  pleasure  and  delight — every 
thing,  her  parents  not  excepted. 
The  living  Lhauda  would  be  dead 
to  us.  I  hate  men  who  eat  bread 
without  knowing  the  trouble  it  costs 
to  sow  and  to  reap  the  corn.  My 
daughter's  husband  shall  labour,  and 
earn  the  bread  he  eats.  What  would 
the  fine  ladies  of  quality  say  if  they 
saw  Lhauda  here  preferred  to  them? 
what  our  neighbours,  the  wives  and 
damsels  of  the  village  ?  Once  more, 
Thievena,  I  tell  thee  thou  art  stark- 


280 


LHAUDA. 


staring  mad.     Don't  pester  me  with 
any  more  of  thy  foolish  fancies!" 

Thievena  and  Claudine  durst  not 
reply,  for  Pierro  was  passionate,  and 
sometimes  rough.  Next  morning, 
when  he  seemed  to  have  recovered 
his  good-humour,  Thievena  renewed 
the  subject;  but  Pierro  was  inflexi- 
ble. How  was  it  possible  to  confess 
to  M.  d'Amplerieux  that  a  poor  vine- 
dresser peremptorily  refused  him  the 
hand  of  his  daughter !  Thievena  re- 
paired privately  to  the  castle.  The 
baron  perceived  from  the  perturba- 
tion expressed  by  her  countenance 
what  answer  she  had  brought;  but 
when  he  was  informed  from  what 
quarter  the  resistance  proceeded,  he 
despaired  not  of  victory.  "  Pierro," 
said  he,  "  will  not  allow  me  to  raise 
you  to  my  level:  well  then,  I  will 
lower  myself  to  yours.  Keep  the 
matter  secret  from  all  but  Claudine ; 
and  when  you  see  me  with  honest 
Pierro,  feign  both  of  you  not  to 
know  me." 

M.  d'Amplerieux  called  together 
his  people,  and  enjoined  the  most 
profound  silence  in  case  of  any  in- 
quiries that  might  be  made  respect- 
ing the  way  of  life  he  was  about  to 
pursue.  He  then  quitted  the  castle, 
and  took  up  his  abode  at  a  shep- 
herd's cottage  which  he  possessed 
at  the  extremity  of  the  village.  Next 
day,  in  the  disguise  of  a  shepherd, 
and  by  the  name  of  Luke,  he  drove 
his  flock  to  the  grounds  contiguous 
to  Pierro's  vineyard.  Luke  was  so 
courteous,  he  watched  his  sheep  so 
attentively  to  prevent  their  doing 
mischief,  and  praised  so  adroitly 
Pierro's  operations,  his  perseverance, 
the  moderation  of  his  wishes,  and 
the  wisdom  of  his  discourse,  that  in 
a  short  time  he  had  deeply  ingrati- 
ated himself  in  Pierro's  favour.  Pi- 


erro and  Luke  soon  became  insepa- 
rable. Lhauda  and  Thievena,  with 
whom  the  rather  aged  swain  had 
private  interviews,  supported  him 
with  all  their  influence.  Meanwhile 
Janin,  who  was  still  at  Lyons,  daily 
received  fresh  commissions  and'  or- 
ders, which  obliged  him  to  defer 
from  time  to  time  his  return  to  Bachet. 
The  letters  which  he  addressed  to 
Lhauda  and  her  father  did  not  reach 
their  hands;  and  the  accounts  from 
his  bride,  though  not  of  such  a  na- 
ture as  to  excite  in  him  any  very 
acute  uneasiness,  yet  proved  that  she 
was  not  deeply  afflicted  on  accouut 
of  his  absence. 

When  M.  d'Amplerieux  conceived 
that  he  had  firmly  established  him- 
self in  Pierro's  favour,  he  sat  down 
one  day  with  him  under  a  larch-tree. 
"  Master  Pierro,"  said  he,  "  you  seem 
to  have  a  partiality  for  me,  and  your 
friendship  makes  me  the  happiest  of 
men.  One  thing  only  gives  me  pain, 
namely,  that  my  age  and  circum- 
stances will  not  permit  me  to  become 
your  son-in-law." — "  Indeed,"  repli- 
ed Pierro,  "  I  should  apprehend  that 
my  daughter  would  think  you  not 
quite  young  enough,  and  my  wife  not 
rich  enough,  for  she  is  ambitious, 
very  ambitious — that  wife  of  mine." 
— "  I  have  some  other  property  be- 
sides my  flock,"  rejoined  Luke ;  "  per- 
haps it  might  be  possible  to  gain 
Thievena.  As  to  Claudine,  I  have 
but  little  hopes  of  inspiring  her  with 
love ;  but  in  matrimony  it  is  sufficient 
if  there  be  only  no  dislike.  Were 
I  as  sure  of  your  consent  as  theirs" 
"  Mine,  my  dear  Luke!  You 


shall  have  it  with  all  my  heart."  So 
saying  he  reached  him  his  hand,  and 
they  gave  each  other  a  mutual  pro- 
mise. Luke  considered  it  a  favoura- 
ble moment  for  throwing  off  the  maskj 


L1IAUDA. 


281 


and  undeceiving  Pierro.  On  hear- 
ing M.  d'Amplerieux's  explanation, 
he  became  uneasy,  attempted  to  ex- 
cuse himself,  and  mentioned  Janin, 
whom  he  had  quite  forgotten.  "  He 
is  a  young  debauchee,"  said  the  ba- 
ron ;  "  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  his 
pleasures.  Were  he  really  attached 
to  your  daughter,  he  would  at  this 
moment  be  here:  his  business  at  Ly- 
ons was  finished  several  weeks  since ; 
but  he  is  never  at  a  loss  for  pretexts 
to  prolong  his  stay  in  that  city,  where 
I  know  he  is  leading  a  very  dissolute 
life.  Besides,  your  daughter  has 
ceased  to  love  him,  and  their  union 
must  of  necessity  prove  most  unhap- 
py." Pierro  perceived  that  there  was 
no  loophole  for  escape,  and  he  found 
all  attempts  to  evade  the  baron's  wish- 
es unavailing.  At  length  he  gave 
his  hand  and  assented. 

The  report  of  so  unusual  and  une- 
qual a  match  soon  spread  throughout 
the  whole  country,  and  even  reached 
Lyons.  Janin  thought  the  story  most 
improbable,  but  yet  quitted  that  city, 
and  hastened  to  Bachet.  He  arrived 
at  midnight;  he  knocked  at  the  doors 
of  the  castle,  but  was  every  where 
denied  admittance  by  the  baron's  do- 
mestics, who  had  orders  not  to  know 
him.  He  hurried  to  Pierro's  cottage, 
and  knocked.  Nobody  answered. 
He  was  now  satisfied  of  the  truth  of 
the  report.  The  idea  that  Lhauda 
was  lost  to  him  overwhelmed  his 
soul  with  despair;  but  when  he  re- 
flected that  another  possessed  her, 
his  heart,  which  was  closed  against 
hope,  opened  to  jealousy,  and  he  felt 
the  whole  power  of  that  fury.  He 
determined  to  take  a  signal  revenge. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  in  a  deep 
dark  cavern,  dwelt  a  hag  renowned 
for  prophetic  talent  and  witchcraft. 

Vol.  II,  No.  XI. 


The  hour  was  favourable  for  the 
mysteries  of  necromancy,  and  Janin 
resolved  to  avail  himself  of  it.  The 
sibyl  had  not  yet  retired  to  rest. 
"  Thou  knowest,"  said  he,  "  the  most 
secret  thoughts  of  men:  thou  knowest 
what  has  brought  me  hither.  If  thou 
canst  not  prosper  my  passion,  aid  me 
at  least  to  avenge  myself." — "  The 
power  of  love,"  replied  the  hag,  "  is 
superior  to  mine.  When  it  once 
quits  a  heart,  it  leaves  it  for  ever. 
Lhauda  has  another  lover:  if  Janin 
is  wise,  he  will  seek  another  mistress. 
Claudine's  heart  is  a  rock  to  thee — 
the  seed  whicb  thou  strewest  on  it  is 
thrown  away." — "  Shame  on  thy 
head,  thou  beldam !"  exclaimed  Ja- 
nin. "  Thou  knowest  not  the  force 
of  love.  I  was  Lhauda' s  first  love. 
She  cannot  have  forgotten  me!" — 
With  these  words  he  rushed  forth 
into  the  wood,  and  there  passed  the 
remainder  of  the  night. 

Morning  dawned — the  village  was 
all  life  and  bustle.  Cannons  thun- 
dered, bells  rang,  trumpets  sounded 
— shouts  of  joy,  songs,  garlands  of 
flowers,  all  announced  the  nuptials 
of  M.  d'Amplerieux.  Poor  Janin! 
could  he  but  speak  to  Pierro,  and 
see  Lhauda  for  a  moment,  what 
hopes  might  he  not  cherish  for  his 
heart,  in  which  love  and  hatred,  his 
better  feelings,  and  the  thoughts  of 
his  dishonour,  were  engaged  in  tre- 
mendous conflict!  He  heard  the  ac- 
clamations in  the  castle,  and  ventured 
not  to  approach.  He  beheld  Claudine 
walking  arm  in  arm  with  the  baron 
through  the  garden,  and  durst  not 
tear  her  from  his  side.  Claudine 
had  seen  him  stealing  through  the 
shrubbery.  She  blushed.  "  Did 
we  not  all  believe,"  said  she  to  her- 
self, "  that  Janin  was  still  at  Lyons, 
P  p 


mi 


LHATJDA. 


and  had  forgotten  me?  Have  I  then 
been  deceived?  How  is  this?  By 
what  means  has  poor  Janin  been  kept 
away?"  Such  were  the  questions  that 
crowded  into  her  mind,  and  excited 
within  her  a  powerful  emotion. 

At  the  foot  of  the  castle  an  impe- 
tuous torrent  rushes  along  between 
dark  rocks ;  on  the  opposite  side 
rises  an  abrupt  naked  crag,  which 
overhangs  the  stream,  and  approach- 
es so  near  to  the  castle  as  to  com- 
mand a  view  of  all  that  passes  in  the 
latter.  Janin,  with  the  fearlessness 
of  despair,  ascended  to  the  summit 
of  this  crag,  and  when  the  tapers 
in  the  castle  burned  brightly,  and 
the  well-known  scenery  around  be- 
came discernible  in  the  mild  moon- 
light, he  found  food  enough  for  the 
passion  that  inflamed  his  heart.  But 
clouds  soon  obscured  the  face  of  the 
moon,  the  music  in  the  castle  ceased, 
the  lights  were  extinguished,  and  all 
became  as  dark  there  as  in  the  star- 
less sky.  He  moved  to  the  margin 
of  the  cliff,  took  a  pistol  from  his 
bosom,  blew  out  his  brains,  and  fell 
headlong  into  the  abyss.  His  fate 
was  not  known  till  the  following  day. 

The  baron  had  not  been  long  unit- 
ed to  his  fair  spouse  before  he  re- 
sumed his  former  way  of  life.  He 
began  himself  to  imagine  that  he 
had  been  dreaming,  and  that  it  was 
high  time  to  awake.  Honest  Pierro 
was  sent  back  to  his  vineyard,  and 
Thievena  to  her  domestic  occupa- 
tions: they  were  no  longer  admitted 
at  the  castle ;  and  it  was  not  without 
great  difficulty  that  Madame  d'Am- 
plerieux now  and  then  obtained  per- 
mission to  lower  herself  so  far  as  to 
visit  her  poor  old  parents  in  secret. 
Pierro  had  foreseen  his  misfortune ; 
he  therefore  bore  it  in  silence :  but 
Thievena's  vanity,  which  was  so  pain- 


fully disappointed,  transformed  her 
tongue  into  a  two-edged  sword  when- 
ever mention  was  made  of  her  noble 
son-in-law. 

Lhatida  had  not  long  to  endure 
this  galling  yoke.  M.  d'Amplerieux 
died,  and  left  her  his  whole  property, 
which  was  very  considerable.  The 
first  use  to  which  she  applied  it  was 
to  make  provision  for  her  parents, 
and  to  erect  a  simple  monument  to 
the  memory  of  Janin  on  the  rock 
over  the  brook.  It  exhibited  a  fe- 
male figure  throwing  flowers  into  an 
empty  urn.  Madame  d'Amplerieux, 
however,  did  not  remain  in  quiet 
possession  of  the  large  fortune  be- 
queathed to  her  by  her  deceased  hus- 
band. His  relatives  thronged  around 
to  plunder  her:  inequality  of  birth 
was  alleged  as  a  pretext  for  persecu- 
tions, and  the  marriage  itself  was  at- 
tacked as  invalid.  The  matter  be- 
came serious;  a  suit  at  law  was  in- 
stituted, and  Madame  d'Amplerieux 
was  obliged  to  repair  to  Paris  to  de- 
fend her  rights.  In  the  capital  her 
beauty  was  not  overlooked,  and  she 
found  powerful  protectors.  One  of 
the  most  zealous  of  these  was  the 
Marshal  de  l'Hopital,  who  was  up- 
wards of  seventy,  and  had  been  many 
years  a  widower.  His  influence  might 
no  doubt  turn  the  scale  in  favour  of 

the  lady.     A  word  from  him but 

he  would  not  for  the  world,  as  he 
said,  afford  cause  for  the  slightest 
imputation  on  the  character  of  the 
young  widow people  might  sus- 
pect an  intimacy in  short,  he  so- 
licited her  hand,  alleging  that  it  was 
not  till  he  had  received  it  that  he 
could  venture  to  stir  in  her  business. 

The  name  and  rank  of  the  marshal 
flattered  Claudine's  vanity.  A  union 
with  an  old  man  was  nothing  new  to 
her;  she  knew  that  if  aged  husbands 


STANZAS. 


283 


arc  inconvenient  they  are  not  so  long. 
It  seemed  indeed  as  if  she  had  only 
given  her  hand  to  the  marshal,  in  or- 
der to  assist  him  to  descend  the  more 
speedily  and  agreeably  into  the  grave. 
In  a  few  months  he  followed  M. 
d'Amplerieux,  and  left  his  wife  poor- 
er than  when  he  married  her;  for  he 
brought  her  nothing  but  some  debts. 
In  these  Claudine  paid  for  the  name 
of  Madame  la  Marechale  de  l'Hopi- 
tal. 

Thievena  was  delighted  with  the 
intelligence  of  her  daughter's  union 
with  a  marshal  of  France.  She  was 
not  yet  cured  by  any  means  of  her 
vanity.  By  the  words — "  My  daugh- 
ter, Madame  la  Marechale  de  1H6- 
pital,  yes,  my  daughter" — she  con- 
soled herself  for  the  contemptuous 
treatment  she  had  experienced  from 
the  baron.  Pierro,  on  the  contrary, 
was  far  from  rejoicing  at  this  new 
match.  "  Ah!"  said  he  dolefully, 
"  it  is  a  great  way  from  Bachet  to 
Paris :  I  shall  never  more  press  my 
daughter  to  my  bosom ;  never  shall 
I  again  clasp  her  hand  in  mine!" — 
"  The  question  here  is  about  our 
child's  prosperity,  and  not  our  hap- 
piness," replied  Thievena.  "  She  is 
now  the  wife  of  a  marshal,  by  and  by 
she  will  be  a  princess,  and  then  a 
queen — yes,  a  queen.  The  gipsy- 
woman  said  so." 

A  prince,  who  had  been  Jesuit, 
cardinal,  and  monarch,  John  Casi- 
mir  II.  King  of  Poland,  had  abdicat- 
ed the  crown,  and  retired  to  France, 
where  Louis  XIV.  assigned  him  the 


abbey  of  Saint  Germain  des  Pres 
for  his  residence.  This  prince,  who 
had  ceased  to  be  a  Jesuit  and  a  king, 
became  noted  for  his  insinuating  man- 
ners and  gallantries.  He  saw  the 
fair  Marechale  de  ITIopitai,  was  smit- 
ten with  her  charms,  and  had  the 
good  fortune  to  please  her.  lie 
married  her  privately;  but  the  secret 
was  soon  divulged  by  her  whose  va- 
nity it  most  wounded ;  and  if  Clau- 
dine did  not  publicly  receive  the  title 
of  queen,  still  every  body  knew  that 
she  was  the  wife  of  a  king.  The 
news  reached  the  humble  cottage  of 
her  father,  who  died  of  grief,  while 
joy  proved  equally  fatal  to  her  mo- 
ther. John  Casimir  soon  followed 
them,  and  Claudine  was  a  third  time 
left  a  widow,  in  the  space  of  fifteen 
years.  The  only  child  she  ever  had, 
a  daughter,  the  issue  of  her  last  mar- 
riage, was  not  acknowledged  by  John 
Casimir' s  relations.  Her  union  with 
the  King  of  Poland  had  not  aug- 
mented her  property;  and  the  shep- 
herdess, who  had  become  a  queen, 
lived  long  enough  to  see  her  posterity 
sink  into  still  more  indigent  circum- 
stances than  those  in  which  she  her- 
self was  born.  More  than  one  of 
the  aged  inhabitants  of  Grenoble 
can  yet  remember  a  little  Claudine, 
who  solicited  the  public  commisera- 
tion with  the  words,  "  Bestow  your 
charity  on  the  grand-daughter  of  the 
King  of  Poland !"  This  unfortunate 
girl  was  in  fact  great-grand-daughter 
to  Claudine  Mijmot. 


STANZAS, 
In  Acknowledgment  of  a  Piece  of  Bridecake. 
I  have  tasted  your  bridecake,  and  wish'cl  you  each  blessing 

This  mutable  state  of  existence  can  know  ; 
With  the  well-founded  hope  of  hereafter  possessing 
Joys  yet  more  enduring  than  earth  can  bestow. 
Pp2 


284 


TIIK  CONFESSIONS  OF   A   RAMBLER. 


Such  greetings  I  doubt  not  may  flow  from  hearts  dearer, 
Which  the  warm  tie  of  kinship  with  yours  may  entwine; 

But  friendship,  believe  me,  can  breathe  none  sincerer 
Than  these  hasty  verses  give  vent  to  of  mine. 

If  not  in  a  glass  of  old  hock  or  canary 

My  hopes  and  my  wishes  all  sparklingly  shone, 

Tis  because  such  rich  cordials  fate  gives  not  to  vary 
So  humble  a  board  and  dessert  as  my  own. 

I  might  pledge  you  in  such,  if  I  chanc'd  to  have  either ; 

But  humbler  potations  my  fortunes  assign : 
So  I  candidly  own  that  I  pledg'd  you  in  neither, 

But  wish'd  you  success  over  plain  currant  -wine ! 

Yet  home-made  the  draught !  and  it  sparkled  as  brightly 

As  tliat  by  a  far  foreign  vintage  supplied : 
Let  it  pass  for  a  type,  then,  of  pleasures  as  sprightly, 

Which  may  wait  on  you  both  by  your  happy  fireside! 


B. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  RAMBLER. 

No.  III. 


After  the  quixotic  excursion  re- 
corded in  the  last  portion  of  my  lu- 
cubrations, I  remained  stationary  for 
some  years.  My  dear  aunt  seemed 
to  have  no  pleasure  but  in  my  so- 
ciety; she  had  the  most  able  mas- 
ters constantly  in  the  house  to  teach 
me  the  learning  and  accomplishments 
of  the  age;  and  under  her  eye  I 
grew  up  to  manhood,  improving  in 
stature  and  in  strength;  and  if  not 
particularly  distinguished  for  any  ve- 
ry good  or  shining  qualities,  certain- 
ly not  remarkable  for  either  vicious 
propensities  or  dulness  of  capacity. 
Occasional  jaunts  to  Norwich  and 
Yarmouth,  a  visit  to  Mr.  Stanhope, 
and  once  a  trip  to  London,  formed 
the  boundaries  of  my  travels;  and 
well  do  I  remember  the  intense  as- 
tonishment which  the  appearance  of 
the  metropolis  excited  in  my  young 
mind.  I  entered  about  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  in  the  month  of  Ja- 
nuary :  the  streets  were  thronged  at 


that  hour;  an  hour  in  which  I  had  been 
accustomed  to  see  the  utmost  still- 
ness and  repose  prevailing  in  the  qui- 
et village  of ,  where  my  aunt  re- 
sided. The  shops  presented  a  glare 
of  light  and  displayed  a  splendour 
of  attraction  that  dazzled  my  inex- 
perienced eyes,  little  used  to  such  a 
magnificent  display;  and  the  num- 
ber of  carriages  rolling  to  and  fro 
gave  me  an  idea  of  the  opulence  of 
the  inhabitants,  suited  to  the  concep- 
tions of  one  who  had  been  used,  in 
the  retired  spot  where  his  days  were 
passed,  to  hear  the  circumstance  of 
an  individual  keeping  his  carriage 
considered  as  denoting  the  possession 
of  great  wealth.  At  this  time  I  re- 
mained in  London  nearly  a  fortnight; 
I  visited  the  theatres,  the  parks,  the 
Tower,  Westminster  Abbey,  St. 
Paul's;  in  short,  almost  every  place 
that  was  worthy  of  the  notice  of  a 
stranger.  All  contributed  to  aug- 
ment my  surprise,  and  to  give  me  a 


THE   CONFESSIONS    OF    A    UAMBLEIl. 


285 


high  opinion  of  the  immense  riches 
of  my  native  land. 

From  that  period  I  scarcely  left 
home  till  the  death  of  my  beloved 
aunt  threw  me  upon  the  world,  with 
a  competency  it  is  true,  but  without 
a  friend  to  guide  or  console  me  (for 
Mr.  Stanhope  and  his  family  were 
removed  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
country),  without  any  relative  who 
would  take  the  trouble  to  advise  me 
how  to  direct  my  steps,  or  to  regulate 
my  conduct.  The  little  property  of 
my  aunt  came  into  my  possession, 
saddled  only  with  an  annuity  to  Mrs. 
Mayflower  and  honest  John  for  their 
lives;  and  having  left  them  in  the 
charge  of  the  house  where  I  had 
spent  so  many  happy  hours,  I  resolv- 
ed to  see  the  world,  and  to  endea- 
vour to  banish  the  sorrow  which  I 
felt  at  the  loss  of  the  only  relative  I 
had  ever  known,  by  travelling  in 
other  countries  and  exploring  other 
climes,  to  see  in  which  the  greatest 
share  of  human  happiness  was  to  be 
found,  and  determine  where  the  least 
portion  of  evil  prevailed. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  May,  in  the 

year  1806",  when  I  left upon  an 

expedition,  of  such  an  indefinite  du- 
ration that  I  did  not  attempt  to  fix 
any  time  for  my  return.  I  had  not 
resolved  on  my  route,  except  that  I 
would  first  go  to  London ;  and  I  ar- 
rived in  that  city  for  the  second  time 
on  the  last  day  of  May.  I  travelled 
by  the  mail,  and  took  up  my  abode 
at  the  inn  where  the  coach  stopped, 
with  the  intention  of  remaining  there 
a  few  days,  and  devoting  them  to  re- 
visiting some  of  the  many  objects  of 
curiosity  which  I  had  inspected  on 
my  former  visit.  I  found,  at  every 
well-remembered  spot,  fresh  reason 
for  wonder  and  astonishment,  and  at 


one  I  experienced  emotions  of  the 
deepest  regret  and  most  profound  ve- 
neration. It  was  St.  Paul's.  The 
memory  of  the  hero  who  had,  a  few 
months  before,  been  interred  there, 
hallowed  the  sacred  edifice :  I  con- 
templated the  tomb  which  inclosed 
his  remains  as  the  last  resting-place 
of  the  brave ;  and  as  I  dropped  a  tear 
to  his  memory,  the  wish  that  future 
Nelsons  might  arise  to  avenge  their 
country,  and  to  assert  the  claim  of 
Britain  to  dominion  over  the  sea,  was 
audibly  uttered. 

"  Are  you  always  in  the  habit  of 
expressing  your  thoughts  aloud, 
young  gentleman  ?"  exclaimed  a  voice 
from  behind  me. 

The  speaker  was  a  well-dressed 
middle-aged  man,  of  gentlemanly  ap- 
pearance and  a  prepossessing  coun- 
tenance. I  replied  to  his  interroga- 
tory, and'a  long  conversation  ensued ; 
but  at  this  distance  of  time  I  can 
give  no  connected  account  of  it,  for 
which,  I  doubt  not,  I  shall  receive 
my  reader's  thanks.  In  the  course 
of  it  I  informed  him  of  my  isolated 
state,  and  told  him  it  was  my  inten- 
tion to  travel,  but  had  not  yet  deter- 
mined as  to  where  I  should  bend  my 
steps. 

"  Are  all  parts  of  the  world  alike 
to  you?"  said  my  friendly  companion. 

"  Exactly  so,"  was  the  response. 

"  Then,  if  you  are  inclined  to  do 
an  act  of  gallantry,  I  can  introduce 
you  to  a  family,  a  lady  and  three 
daughters,  who  are  going  in  a  few 
days  to  sail  for  America,  and  who 
would  be  most  happy,  I  am  sure,  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  protection  of 
a  gentleman  during  the  voyage;  for 
to  females  there  is  something  terri- 
ble in  the  idea  of  committing  them- 
selves to  the  boundless  deep,  with  no 


236 


THE    CONFESSIONS    OF    A    RAMBLER 


friend  near  on  whom  they  can  rely 
for  assistance,  consolation,  or  ad- 
vice." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  America  of 
all  things,"  I  replied,  "  and  if  your 
friends  will  accept  of  me  as  one  of 
their  party,  I  will  instantly  make  the 
necessary  preparations  for  my  depar- 
ture." 

It  was  finally  arranged  that  Mr. 
Gardiner  (such  was  the  name  of  my 
new  friend)  should  introduce  me  to 
the  ladies  in  the  morning ;  and  he- 
fore  we  parted,  he  made  me  acquaint- 
ed with  the  outlines  of  their  history. 

When  both  were  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  the  father  of  Henry  Monta- 
gue had  married  the  mother  of  Em- 
ma St.  Clair,  the  children  being  the 
fruit  of  former  unions.  The  young 
people  were  naturally  much  together, 
and  being  both  young,  handsome,  and 
accomplished,  it  was  as  natural  that 
they  should  both  fall  violently  in  love. 
Their  union  was,  however,  opposed 
by  their  parents,  who  entertained 
some  scruples  as  to  its  propriety, 
though  they  were  not  so  nearly  re- 
lated as  to  come  within  the  degrees 
of  canonical  exclusion,  the  relation 
in  fact  being  merely  through  the  mar- 
riage of  their  respective  parents. 
With  a  degree  of  deference  to  the 
wishes  of  their  friends,  which  is  to 
be  found  in  but  i"cw  young  people  at 
the  present  day,  they  agreed  to  re- 
linquish their  own  wishes  to  those 
of  Mr.  Montague;  but  as  it  was  deem- 
ed necessary  and  proper  that  a  se- 
paration should  take  place,  Henry 
was  sent  to  an  eminent  surgeon's  in 
the  metropolis,  to  study  the  profes- 
sion of  physic,  whilst  Emma  remain- 
ed at  home.  It  has  frequently  been 
remarked,  that  men  are  less  tena- 
cious of  first  impressions  than  wo- 
men; and  so  it  proved  in  this  case: 


for,  whilst  Emma  was  pining  in  se- 
cret over  her  separation  from  the  ob- 
ject of  her  affection,  he  was  fostering 
another  attachment;  and  in  less  than 
a  twelvemonth  he  led  to  the  altar 
the  daughter  of  the  gentleman  with 
whom  he  was  placed. 

This  was  an  occurrence  which  Em- 
ma had  never  contemplated  as  in  the 
list  of  probabilities :  it,  however,  shew- 
ed her  the  necessity  that  existed  for 
making  a  violent  effort  to  conquer 
her  partiality;  and  with  a  strength  of 
mind  which  she  had  deemed  it  im- 
possible to  exert,  she  at  length  so  far 
subdued  her  feelings  as  to  be  able 
to  accept  an  invitation  to  spend  some 
time  with  Henry  and  his  wife  ;  and  if 
her  heart  did  palpitate,  if  the  colour 
did  for  a  moment  recede  from  her 
cheek,  as  he  welcomed  her  to  his 
house  and  introduced  her  to  his  wife, 
she  may  well  be  excused. 

The  first  introduction  over,  her  dif- 
fidence soon  began  to  subside,  and 
in  a  very  few  days  she  became  recon- 
ciled to  Henry's  choice.  They  both 
exerted  themselves  to  the  utmost  to 
amuse  her;  and  many  gay  parties 
were  planned  on  her  account.  At 
one  of  them  she  was  introduced  to  a 
young  merchant,  who  soon  distin- 
guished her  above  her  fellows,  itr 
such  a  way  as  to  convince  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Montague  that  there  was  no- 
thing but  her  own  inclination  to  pre- 
vent her  from  becoming  the  wife  of 
the  young  and  wealthy  Fitzherbert. 
To  shorten  my  story,  she  did  marry 
him,  and  for  years  they  were  blessed 
with  every  good  which  Providence 
could  bestow.  Three  daughters,  love- 
ly as  Hebe,  and  as  amiable  as  they 
were  beautiful,  blessed  their  union ; 
and  it  appeared  to  be  almost  beyond 
the  power  of  fate  to  blast  their  joys. 

But  mercantile   speculations   are 


ON    THE    DRAMA    AND    ITS    ACTOIIS. 


287 


uncertain,  and  the  misfortunes  of  a 
day  may  overthrow  the  work  of  years. 
Thus  it  was  with  poor  Fitzherbert. 
Losses  by  the  bankruptcy  of  several 
houses  who  were  deeply  indebted  to 
him,  and  the  failure  of  some  transac- 
tions in  which  he  had  unadvisedly 
engaged,  undermined  his  credit,  and 
his  spirit  sunk  with  the  shock:  about 
one  year  before  the  period  of  which 
I  am  writing,  he  fell  a  victim  to  his 
acute  sensibility,  and  left  his  widow 
and  her  interesting  family  to  struggle 
with  the  world. 

While  these  changes  were  taking 
place  in  the  fortunes  of  the  once  hap- 
py Fitzherberts,  Montague,  who  had, 
in  the  early  period  of  the  French 
revolution,  taken  a  decided  part  in 
politics,  became  at  length  so  distin- 
guished for  his  Jacobinical  principles, 
that  he  was  compelled  to  quit  Eng- 
land, and  for  ten  years  before  the 
death  of  his  friend  he  had  been  a 
resident  in  the  United  States.  There 
his  political  principles  had  been  of 
service  to  him ;  he  had  early  attain- 
ed the  notice  and  friendship  of  Mr. 
Jefferson,  who  was  subsequently  ele- 
vated to  the  presidency;  and  as  edi- 
tor and  proprietor  of  a  weekly  paper 
(added  to  the  occasional  practice  of 
his  profession),  he  was  acquiring  af- 
fluence :  whilst  the  less  fortunate  Emi- 
ly was  suffering  the  anguish  of  see- 
ing her  husband  pining  away  daily 
and  hourly,  from  disasters  and  anx- 


iety; and  then,  having  recovered  from 
tiie  shock  which  that  husband's  death 
occasioned,  the  anticipation  of  what 
was  to  be  the  hi  ture  fate  of  herself  and 
children  became  almost  insupport- 
able. By  one  of  those  providential 
coincidences  which  so  often  occur 
in  the  course  of  our  lives,  but  which 
are  so  frequently  suffered  to  pass  un- 
noticed and  unimproved,  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague died  within  a  few  days  of  Mr. 
Fitzherbert.  Henry  heard  of  the 
distressed  situation  in  which  the  wife 
of  the  latter  was  left,  and  he  imme- 
diately wrote  to  her,  once  more  to 
make  an  offer  of  that  hand  which 
the  scruples  of  their  parents  had  pre- 
vented from  being  his  in  early  youth. 
The  letter  surprised  and  shocked 
her,  for  she  then  discovered  that  un- 
consciously she  had  always  cherish- 
ed a  romantic  and  tender  attachment 
for  Montague,  which,  though  it  never 
interfered  with  her  duties  and  affec- 
tions as  a  wife,  yet  her  sensitive  deli- 
cacy now  considered  as  a  crime. 
Some  consideration  was  necessary 
before  she  returned  an  answer:  it 
is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  that  it 
was  an  acceptance  of  the  offer;  and  it 
was  Mrs.  Fitzherbert  and  her  daugh- 
ters (who  were  about  to  sail  at  an 
early  day  for  America,  as  Mr.  Mon- 
tague's engagements  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  visit  England,)  to  whom 
I  was  to  be  introduced. 

A  Rambler. 


ON  THE  DRAMA  AND  ITS  ACTORS. 


Est  modus  in  rebus,  sunt  certi,  denique,  tines, 
Q'uos  ultra  citraque  nequit  consistere  rectum. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Horace  Sat. 


Sir, 

As  your  Repositoryis  devoted 
to  belles  lettres  and  the  more  polite 
arts,  I   hope    that   a  review  of  the 


theatre,  in  its  composition  and  repre- 
sentation, will  not  be  considered  an 
improper  subject  for  its  pages.  No 
one  style  of  writing  appears  to  have 


288 


ON    THT.    DRAMA    AND    ITS    ACTOKS. 


undergone  more  extraordinary  vicis- 
situdes than  the  dramatic:  at  first 
devoted  to  emblematic  portraitures 
of  occult  truths ;  then  intended  as  a 
school  of  Grecian  morals;  afterwards, 
as  in  the  papal  mysteries,  applied  to 
exhibitions  of  monkish  legends ;  and 
now,  alternately,  designed  to  sub- 
serve the  purposes  of  amusement, 
or  the  illustration  of  ancient  man- 
ners and  customs,  it  excites  in  all 
its  varied  stages  a  lively  interest,  and 
has  an  undisputed  claim  upon  our 
attention.  But,  in  this  age  of  matu- 
rer  intellect,  the  correct  critic  will 
require  a  just  epitome  of  human  life; 
a  true  delineation  of  the  springs  of 
action;  the  virtues  and  the  vices 
which  occur  in  the  human  character: 
he  will  judge  of  the  merit  of  a  per- 
formance by  actual  circumstances, 
and  expect  that  every  picture  of  man 
shall  be  modelled  in  the  mould  of 
nature. 

Although  it  be  not  my  present 
purpose  to  investigate  the  history  of 
the  drama,  to  trace  it  from  the  sce- 
nical  book  of  Job  or  the  recitations 
at  an  Arabian  Ocadh,  or  to  point  out 
its  rise,  progress,  and  fluctuating  for- 
tunes, yet  we  must  bear  in  mind  its 
origin  and  primitive  object;  and  if 
we  consider  plays  as  arising  from  that 
symbolical  representation  of  things, 
which  was  the  natural  result  of  the 
symbolical  language  of  the  early  Hi- 
erophants,  and  vitally  connected  at 
one  period  with  the  scenical  exhibi- 
tions in  the  Eleusinian  and  Eastern 
mysteries,  we  must  admit,  that  real 
facts,  morality,  and  instruction  were 
the  principal  aim  of  the  ancient  dra- 
ma. But  if  we  enter  into  a  compa- 
rative disquisition  of  the  rules  by 
which  this,  and  by  which  the  modern 
drama  is  governed,  we  shall  find  a 
sad  revulsion  in  some  points,  and  in 


others  a  meretricious  taste  and  taw- 
dry tinsel  too  often  taking  away  the 
effect  from  the  improvements,  which 
we  must  allow.  Waving  therefore 
this  inquiry,  I  shall  confine  myself 
to  the  present  state  of  things. 

It  is  granted  that  the  formation, 
completion,  and  development  of  the 
plot  is  one  of  the  chief  secrets  in 
theatrical  composition :  yet  it  is  urged 
that  this  must  be  confined  within  the 
limits  of  the  probable,-  and  it  is  a 
glaring  proof  of  bad  taste  to  unfold 
the  web  of  intricacy  by  the  interven- 
tion of  spiritual  agents,  as  we  have 
had  too  frequent  reason  to  observe. 

Nee  Deus  intersit,  nisi  dignus  vin- 
dice  nodus,  is  as  sound  a  canon  for 
the  drama  as  for  poetry ;  and  these 
medley  -  pieces  of  fairies,  goblins, 
witches,  and  the  like,  we  would  rather 
assign  to  their  proper  place  in  the 
entertainment.  It  is  very  percep- 
tible, in  many  modern  comedies  and 
tragedies,  that  the  author  has  com- 
menced their  texture  without  a  pre- 
arranged plan,  and  proceeded,  if  not 
in  the  main  plot,  yet  in  the  minor  de- 
corations and  appendages,  without  a 
synopsis  of  the  acts,  scenes,  and  in- 
cidents in  his  own  mind,  trusting  in 
a  considerable  degree  to  interlarded 
scenes  of  buffoonery  and  low  mirth, 
which  have  no  possible  connection 
with  the  subject  of  the  piece,  although, 
by  succeeding  with  the  lower  class  of 
auditors,  they  may  avail  to  hide  con- 
fusion of  plan  and  poverty  of  ideas. 
The  writer  of  a  play  should  form  a 
just  estimate  of  men  and  manners 
before  he  takes  his  pen  in  hand ;  he 
should  seek  living  prototypes  for 
every  character  which  he  depicts; 
and  as  much  as  possible,  he  should 
avoid  the  prevalent  custom  of  ac- 
commodating his  dramatis  personce 
to  a  particular  set  of  actors,  as  if 


ON    TIIK    DUAMA    AND    ITS    ACTORS. 


289 


tlvey  were  confined  to  one  theatre, 
and  in  that  theatre  merely  to  the 
company  at  that  time  existing:  hence 
heteroclites  have  come  on  the  stage 
more  like  the  puppets  in  punch, 
or  the  heroes  of  a  novel,  than  real 
human  beings  "  of  body  and  soul,  of 
flesh  and  blood  compounded."  This  \ 
is  an  exhibition  of  performers  rather 
than  the  performance  of  a  play,  who, 
provided  they  can  caper  like  Gri- 
maldi,  and  draw  down  applause  by 
grinning  and  distorted  visages,  care 
little  about  the  degree  of  intellect  in 
the  piece  which  they  are  represent- 
ing; which  mountebankism  is  licit  in 
a  pantomime,  but  absurd  in  a  play. 

Nor  can  I  avoid  noticing  the  very 
strange  manner  in  which  songs  have 
been  recently  introduced  (at  Covent- 
Garden  more  especially),  by  which 
indeed  the  audience  may  he  enchant-  j 
ed  from  the  powers  of  the  vocalist, 
though  their  introduction  be  most 
outre  and  forced,  notwithstanding 
the  eclat  which  Miss  Stephens  or 
Miss  Tree  may  procure  for  them. 
We*  should  see  a  reason  for  a  song 
in  a  play,  as  we  always  remark  in 
Shakspeare ;  but  when,  in  the  midst 
of  a  dialogue,  two  girls  meet  to  talk 
of  their  lovers,  and  of  a  sudden  ex- 
change their  colloquy  for  singing, 
or  when  a  fair  soliloquist  sings  to 
herself  her  griefs,  or  hopes,  or  fears, 
as  we  have  frequently  observed  late- 
ly, the  effect  is  most  extravagantly 
ridiculous,  and  the  syren's  voice  most 
miserably  out  of  place.  The  fact 
is,  that  this  is  unnatural,  and  conse- 
quently inconsistent  with  good  taste. 
Such  vocal  pieces  should  be  exclu- 
sively confined  to  operas,  and  not  in- 
termixed with  the  other  classes  of 
the  drama,  where  they  are  as  mon- 
strous as  the  hobgoblins  and  the 
Vol.  II.  No.  XL 


rest  of  the  impish  tribe  who  have 
been  criticized  above.  This  rule 
may  run  counter  to  popular  opinion, 
yet  it  is  the  canon  of  just  criticism, 
which  cannot  be  violated  without  a 
proportionate  derogation  from  the 
dignity  of  the  stage :  if  truth  cannot 
always  form  the  basis  of  dramatic 
composition,  let  the  fiction  be  pro- 
bable.  It  is  granted,  that  by  means 
of  splendid  scenery,  and  the  artificial 
aid  of  optical  illusions,  these  hetero- 
dox pieces  may  contain  much  of  the 
entertaining  and  of  the  beautiful: 
but  do  they  contain  one  iota  of  the 
instructive  ?  Do  they  subserve  the 
purposes  of  good  acting?  In  fine, 
are  they  of  any  use  either  to  the  ac- 
tor or  the  beholder  ?  For,  I  would 
contend,  that  the  theatre  might  be 
of  essential  use  to  both:  it  was  of 
old  a  school  of  morality,  patriotism, 
and  every  brighter  virtue ;  the  phi- 
losopher, the  good  citizen,  the  good 
man, 

"  Integer  vita?,  scelerisque  purus," 
were  exhibited  in  the  mimic  pagean- 
try, and  holden  forth  to  the  rising 
youth  as  examples  of  emulation,  and 
objects  of  veneration  and  honour. 
Why  may  it  not  again  become  such 
a  vehicle  of  moral  good?  Let  it  have 
its  decorations  and  its  embellishments, 
but  let  it  be  founded  on  the  law  of 
nature,  and  directed  to  the  dissemina- 
tion of  virtue. 

It  is  apparent,  that  the  bad  taste 
of  authors  must  have  a  direct  influ- 
ence on  the  actors  who  are  to  repre- 
sent their  compositions:  hence  many 
have  attempted  to  supply  the  writer's 
deficiency  by  over-acting  the  parts 
assigned  to  them,  by  which  the  whole 
has  been  rendered  more  ridiculous 
than  it  was  in  manuscript.  The  pro- 
pensity also  of  accommodating  Ger- 
Q   Q 


290 


DESCRIPTION    OP    A    GRECIAN    TEMPLE 


man  and  French  plays  to  the  English 
school  has  been  of  severe  injury  to 
the  drama;  because  they  are  not  suit- 
ed to  our  taste,  habits,  or  manners ; 
and  things,  however  good  in  them- 
selves, are  necessarily  diluted  to  in- 
sipidity when  they  are  only  transla- 
tions or  paraphrases.  All  the  actors 
who  have  most  distinguished  them- 
selves have  derived  their  credit  from 
their  good  taste  and  knowledge  of 
nature,  in  which  they  successfully  mo- 
delled the  exercise  of  their  powers: 
a  Siddons,  a  Jordan,  a  Quin,  a  Gar- 
rick,  and  a  Kemble,  owed  their  thea- 
trical laurels  to  this  principle,  and  on 
this  depends  the  deserved  popularity 
of  William  Farren.  These  chaste 
performers  aimed  not  so  much  to 
astound  their  audience,  as  to  exhibit 
that  which  formerly  occurred,  or 
which  passes  every  day  before  our 
eyes;  all  their  characters  had  their 
counterparts  in  real  life;  which  qua- 
lification I  particularly  observed  this 
summer  at  Yarmouth,  in  a  provincial 
theatre  in  which  I  had  not  calculat- 
ed to  find  any  thing  of  a  superior 
order;  where,  when  Vining  appear- 
ed as  a  "  gay  blade"  in  high  life,  and 
Miss  Wensley  exerted  herself  in  gen- 
teel comedy,  I  retraced  with  delight 
the  true  taste  and  powers  of  the 
greatest  ornaments  of  the  English 
theatre,  not  without  a  regret  that 
our  London  boards  should  be  de- 
prived of  two  such  able  performers ; 
and  more  particularly  in  our  dearth 


of  eminent  actresses,  that  Miss  Wen- 
sley should  waste  her  talents  in  the 
Norwich  company.  Vining's  admi- 
rable conception  of  every  part  which 
he  played,  and  Miss  Wensley's  first- 
rate  abilities  as  an  actress  and  a  vo- 
calist, often  have  occurred  to  my 
mind  when  witnessing  on  our  Lon- 
don stage  inferior  performers  taking 
those  characters*  in  which  she  shines 
unique. 

It  is  therefore  from  the  association 
of  ideas  between  things  of  real  ex- 
istence and  things  exhibited,  and 
from  the  faithful  portrait  of  times 
and  customs  thus  delineated,  that  an 
actor  fixes  himself  upon  the  public 
mind  ;  and  that  the  drama  itself,  like 
another  Circean  spell,  fastens  itself 
upon  the  imagination.  Hence  we 
regret  able  performers  who  have  re- 
tired from  their  arduous  profession, 
or  who  are  no  more ;  and  naturally 
transfer  our  admiration  from  those 
whose  powers  we  can  no  longer  en- 
joy, to  those  who  most  nearly  imitate 
their  excellence,  or  who,  from  the  en- 
ergies of  an  original  genius,  pursue  a 
path  of  attraction  peculiarly  their 
own. 

For  the  present  I  conclude  my  re- 
marks, hoping  at  a  future  time  to 
trouble  you  with  a  research  into  the 
origin  of  the  drama.     I  remain,  &c. 

Censor. 

*  Her  Violante,  Lady  Townley,  Ro- 
salind, Lady  Teazle,  and  Lady  Bell,  were 
unequalled  performances. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  A  GRECIAN  TEMPLE, 

Recently  discovered  under-ground  near  the  City  of  Corfu,  in  the  Ionian  Islands. 


We  have  been  favoured  with  the 
following  extract  of  a  letter  from  a 
British  officer  at  Corfu,  containing  a 
few  particulars  relating  to  the  disco- 


very of  a  whole  Grecian  temple  near 
that  city,  and  inclosing  a  number  of 
the  Corfu  Gazette,  containing  a  cir- 
cumstantial account  of  the  discovery, 


DISCOVERED    NEAR    CORFU. 


291 


and  a  full  description  of  the  temple 
itself,  of  which  we  also  subjoin  a 
translation.  The  Panorama  of  Cor- 
fu, now  exhibiting  in  the  Strand,  will 
enable  our  readers  to  see  the  identi- 
cal spot  of  ground  which  concealed 
this  highly  interesting  relic  of  Gre- 
cian art,  in  its  best  age,  the  temple 
being  situated  in  the  immediate  vi- 
cinity of  General  Sir  Fred.  Adam's 
house,  which  may  be  found  in  the 
Panorama  by  reference  to  the  print- 
ed illustration  of  the  painting. 


EXTRACT    OF   THE    LETTER. 

"  Respecting  the  ancient  temple 
which  was  discovered  by  one  of  our 
engineers,  I  refer  you  to  the  inclos- 
ed Gazette,  where  you  will  find  the 
particulars.  It  is  situated  in  the  olive- 
grove  on  the  left,  as  you  go  up  to 
Ascension-Hill,  just  above  the  foun- 
tain where  ships  generally  water.  The 
excavations  were  carried  on  until  the 
site  of  the  building  was  perfectly 
cleared,  and  many  subterraneous  pas- 
sages were  found,  which  I  have  no 
doubt  communicate  with  the  cave 
at  no  great  distance  from  the  sea- 
shore. They  extend  on  the  opposite 
side  almost  as  far  as  the  general's 
country-house. 

"  Besides  this  temple,  there  ap- 
pear the  ruins  of  another  extensive 
building:  but  I  doubt  whether  go- 
vernment will  continue  the  excava- 
tions, considering  the  loss  of  the  olive- 
trees;  otherwise  I  should  think  fur- 
ther interesting  discoveries  might  be 
made  in  the  direction  of  the  lake, 
where,  you  know,  almost  at  every 
step  fragments  of  ancient  vases  are 
found. 

"  To  observe  the  progress  of  the 
temple  was,  of  course,  the  object 
of  our  daily  walks,  and  one  day  I 
made  a  discovery,  which  at  the  mo- 


ment gave  me  great  pleasure.  I  re- 
marked, under  the  root  of  an  olive- 
tree,  a  white  stone,  and  after  digging 
it  out,  found  it  to  be  part  of  a  statue 
— a  foot  on  a  square  piece  of  marble, 
which  had  probably  been  in  that  si- 
tuation for  a  number  of  years  with- 
out being  noticed  by  any  one.  In  our 
expectation  of  finding  the  other  part 
of  the  statue  we  were  disappointed." 

Translation  of  a  Letter  from  Colonel 

Wmtmore  to  the  Editor  of  the 

Ionian  Gazette. 

Corfu,  6th  April,  1823. 

The  recent  discovery  of  the  tem- 
ple which  had  for  ages  remained  bu- 
ried at  Cardachio,  and  of  the  exten- 
sive aqueducts  near  it,  having  excit- 
ed deep  and  general  interest,  I  feel 
happy  in  being  able  to  satisfy  the  cu- 
riosity of  the  public  in  some  degree. 

During  last  autumn,  the  fountains 
which  usually  furnished  the  water 
for  the  shipping  were  found  dried 
up  to  such  a  degree,  that  it  was  de- 
termined, to  make  the  experiment 
whether  their  ancient  springs  might 
not  be  retraced.  They  discharge 
themselves  at  present  in  the  bottom 
of  a  hollow  between  two  hills  of  sand- 
stone. The  site  where  they  empty 
themselves  is  situated  36  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  they  yield  in  the  hottest 
seasons  about  5418  gallons  a  day. 
In  seeking  the  sources  of  these  foun- 
tains, the  fluted  shaft  of  a  Doric  co- 
lumn, which  was  scarcely  perceptible 
above  the  level  of  the  soil,  attracted 
some  notice :  this  column  was  found 
upright;  and  upon  further  excava- 
tion, the  foundations  of  a  temple 
were  discovered,  at  the  height  of  (>J 
feet  65  inches  above  the  fountain, 
and  about  99  feet  6|  inches  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  This  edifice 
was  a  Doric  hexastyle,  and  stood 
Q  q  - « 


292 


DESCRIPTION    OF    A 


E.S.E.  (W.N.W.)  The  six  co- 
lumns which  support  the  front,  and 
the  seven  on  each  side,  although 
much  decayed,  were  in  their  places ; 
but  the  rest  of  the  building,  and  near- 
ly half  the  cella,  have  fallen  into  the 
sea. 

In  its  original  state,  the  peristyle 
or  portico  was  probably  composed  of 
thirty  columns,  placed  upon  a  stylo- 
bate  or  plinth  of  two  steps.  The  di- 
visions of  the  cella  cannot  now  be 
traced,  but  there  exists  still  a  certain 
remarkable  elevation,  indicating  no 
doubt  the  site  of  the  altar,  which 
must  have  been  coated  with  some  pe- 
culiar substance.  The  intercolum- 
niation  is  of  the  diastyle  kind;  the 
frieze  is  entirely  wanting;  and  the 
crown  or  cornice,  which  is  not  Doric, 
as  well  as  the  epistyle  or  architrave, 
do  not  present  any  traces  of  gutter, 
regolcc  or  mutules.  The  abacus  and 
the  echinus  are  plain,  according  to 
the  best  models ;  the  flutings,  twenty 
in  number,  cross  the  hypoirackelium 
or  neck,  which  is  cut  by  two  grooves. 

The  walls  of  the  cella  still  remain- 
ing measure  only  2  feet  9  inches  in 
thickness  above  their  foundation,  and 
the  entrance  seems  to  have  been  from 
the  sea  only. 

The  general  dimensions  of  the 
building  are  nearly  as  follow :   ft.  in. 

Width  of  the  cella 24  0 

Ditto  of  the  portico,  exclusively  of 

the  steps        38  4 

Upper  diameter  of  the  columns  .     .  1  G 

Lower  diameter 2  0 

Height  of  the  shaft 9  8 

T1   .   ,  .     ...  ...  S  abacus    .     .  54 

Height  of  the  capital  <      .  .  .,4 

&  I  echinus  .      .  0 

Width  of  the  intercolum-  f    these, 

niation J   how-  5     6 

Intercolumniation  at  the  j   ever, 

angles [_  vary  5     4 

Height  of  the  architrave     ....  16 

Taenia 4| 

Width  of  the  pteroma  or  amhulato- 

vium  on  the  sides 5     5 

Ditto  in  front  towards  the  land-side  7     4 


GRECIAN    TEMPLE 

ft.  in. 

Height  of  the  top  step 11 

Ditto  of  the  lower  one 10 

Width  of  the  lower  step    ....  10 
Height  of  the  centre  stone  of  the  top 

or  front    .     .  i 5     1 

It  is  remarkable  that  all  the  co- 
lumns were  found  standing,  although 
the  building  fell  outwards  upon  vari- 
ous heaps  of  earth,  which  had  by 
degrees  buried  the  entire  edifice,  a 
circumstance  which  proves  that  the 
fall  must  have  taken  place  gradually; 
since,  if  it  had  been  effected  by  an 
earthquake,  or  by  the  violence  of 
man,  its  fragments  would  have  strew- 
ed the  pavement,  and  the  columns, 
which  were  not  secured  upon  the  sty- 
lobate,  must  likewise  have  fallen. 

The  temple  was  covered  with  tiles 
in  the  usual  manner,  and  many  were 
found  with  names  imprinted  upon 
them,  probably  of  the  principal  ma- 
gistrates, when  the  work  was  begun 
or  repaired. 

Amongst  them  were  the  following : 
Etti  Agi<rotJ.zvns .  .  .  Under  Aristomenes. 
Etti  Qegstx      ....    Under  Therias. 
Ett/  Ax/jluvos  ....  Under  Damon. 
Em  Agirtx     ....  Under  Aristea. 
E7n  <fri\ajvi?$tx     .  .   .   Under  Philonidas. 
Etti  Af/roxXEot»j     .  .   Under  Aristocles. 

EvrroXt^H Eupolemus' 

Em  Tlxv-ns Under  Panes. 

On  the  cover  of  a  jar  of  oil,  the 
letters  a  a  are  perceptible,  and  se- 
veral of  the  tiles  bear  the  letter  a, 
and  the  same  letter  within  a  circle. 

The  form  of  some  of  the  letters 
indicates  a  very  remote  period.  Mus- 
toxidi  thinks  Aristomenes  to  have 
been  the  principal  magistrate  of  Cor- 
cyra  during  the  Peloponnesian  war: 
but  a  safer  judgment  of  the  antiquity 
of  this  temple  may  be  formed  from 
the  proportions  of  its  columns,  their 
form,  and  the  flutings  in  the  hypo- 
trachelium;  and  if  we  may  presume 
the  frieze  to  have  been  of  the  usual 


DISCOVERED    NEAR    CORFU. 


29.3 


proportion  to  the  height  of  the  archi- 
trave (which  latter  may  have  heen 
about  four  modules),  these  propor- 
tions would  nearly  agree  with  those 
of  the  Parthenon  and  the  temple  of 
Theseus  at  Athens ;  so  that  we  may 
fix  the  epoch  of  its  construction  about 
the  5th  century  before  Christ. 

At  the  distance  of  about  ten  feet 
from  the  sides  of  this  edifice  were 
discovered  two  wells,  about  30  or  40 
feet  deep,  which  communicate  with 
subterranean  aqueducts.  These  aque- 
ducts or  channels  are  about  6  feet 
high,  5  feet  6  inches  wide,  and  have 
been  explored  to  the  length  of  1400 
feet. 

The  principal  object  for  which  the 
aforesaid  channels  were  constructed, 
was  to  contribute  to  the  preservation 
of  the  temple,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  conduct  the  waters  on  the  hill, 
called  Monte  dell' Ascensione,  to  a 
somewhat  remote  spot. 

Of  these  aqueducts,  as  well  as  of 
the  temple,  evident  mention  is  made 
in  an  inscription  upon  a  marble  pre- 
served in  the  Museum  of  Verona.  It 
has  been  translated  by  MafFei  from 
the  original  Doric  dialect  into  Latin, 
and  afterwards  by  Mustoxidi  from 
Latin  into  Italian. 

This  inscription  commemorates  the 
sanction  of  the  republic  of  Corcyra 
regarding  the  formation  of  some  pub- 
lic works  ;  mentions  in  detail  the  cost 
of  the  iron,  of  the  lead,  of  the  cop- 
per, of  the  carriage  of  the  materials, 
of  the  excavations,  and  of  the  labour; 
the  expense  of  a  brazen  serpent,  of 
nitre  or  nitron  for  the  altar ;  the  erec- 
tion of  an  obelisk  and  a  wall  built 
by  Metrodorus.  The  judges  and 
magistrates  within  as  well  as  without 
the  city  approve  in  this  document 
all  that  has  been  executed.  They 
also  mention  the  renewal  of  the  roof 


of  the  temple,  the  turn  given  to  the 
direction  of  the  waters  to  prevent 
the  force  of  the  stream  from  injuring 
the  wall  which  served  to  support 
the  edifice,  and  the  inscription  (how- 
ever defaced  and  imperfect)  shews 
that  the  object  was  to  direct  the  rush 
of  the  waters  from  the  temple  to- 
wards the  arsenals  and  magazines. 
MafFei  further  supposes  that  there 
was  an  addition  to  this  inscription, 
purporting  that  the  cippus  of  a  god, 
of  whose  name  the  A  only  remains, 
was  to  be  carefully  placed  within  the ' 
temple ;  and  he  imagines  that  the 
above  serpent  of  bronze  shews  /Es- 
culapius  to  have  been  the  divinity  in 
question.  Mustoxidi  translates  this 
passage  literally,  as  well  as  the  re- 
marks made  by  MafFei,  taken  from 
Pliny,  and  relating  to  the  nitre  for 
the  altar;  but,  unfortunately  for  the 
principal  part  of  the  hypothesis,  the 
tablet  does  not  contain  one  word  re- 
lating to  the  cippus,  or  any  expres- 
sion whatever  indicating  the  transfer 
of  any  thing  belonging  to  some  dei- 
ty; and  the  most  simple  interpreta- 
tion would  perhaps  have  been,  to  sup- 
pose that  the  judges  and  magistrates 
ordered  their  decree  to  be  inscribed 
in  the  columns,  or  in  columnal  man- 
ner, upon  the  wall  of  Metrodorus, 
opposite  to  the  temple  of  the  god  A — . 

The  columnal  manner  of  writing 
was  adopted  in  the  various  public 
decrees  of  the  people,  in  their  esti- 
mates for  public  works,  &c.  If  this 
manner  of  interpreting  the  aforesaid 
marble  be  adopted,  the  difficulties 
met  with  in  the  conjectures  of  MafFei, 
that  the  decree  should  be  written 
upon  a  column  placed  against  a  wall, 
will  fall  to  the  ground. 

It  is  worthy  of  observation  how 
precisely  the  site  of  our  edifice  cor- 
responds with  the  inscription  on  the 


294 


DESCRIPTION    OP    A   GRECIAN    TETJfPLK,  &C 


tablet  of  Verona.  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  a  temple  built,  contrary  to  the 
general  practice,  in  a  valley,  and  on 
that  account  subject  to  injury  from 
the  subterranean  waters;  secondly, 
a  wall  of  support  was  raised  to  obvi- 
ate their  bad  effects;  in  the  third 
place,  aqueducts  have  been  construct- 
ed to  turn  off  the  springs  from  the 
foundation  of  the  temple,  and  to  con- 
duct them  on  the  highest  possible 
level  for  another  object;  and,  lastly, 
the  temple  contained  an  altar,  for 
which  the  nitron  had  been  bought. 
The  ancients  knew  so  imperfectly 
the  difference  between  nitron  or  ni- 
tre and  natron  (another  name  for  so- 
da), that  the  latter  is  generally  sup- 
posed to  be  what  Pliny  and  his  pre- 
decessor denominated  nitron. 

It  is,  moreover,  very  singular  that 
the  altar,  after  the  lapse  of  twenty- 
two  centuries,  still  presents  fragments 
of  a  peculiar  coating,  which  appears 
to  contain  a  portion  of  soda. 

Concerning  the  divinity,  the  letter 
A  and  the  serpent  of  bronze  would 
equally  indicate  Apollo  and  yEscula- 
pius.  Among  a  series  of  conjectures 
upon  this  subject,  the  first  seems  the 
most  natural,  considering  that  in  an- 
cient times  a  fountain  actually  existed 
there,  which  must  have  been  suppli- 
ed by  the  very  spring  situated  at 
the  distance  of  700  yards  from  our 
aqueducts,  and  which  was  called  the 
Pythian  fountain,  Poo*  Uv^xws. 

The  excavations  carried  on  at  Car- 
dachio  brought  to  light  several  heads 
of  women  of  terra  coita,  lacrimato- 
ries,  pateras  of  bronze,  beetles,  crowns 
of  glass,  pieces  of  broken  pottery, 
ivory,  brass,  and  lead;  a  wheel  of 
bronze,  tops  of  arrows,  rings,  and  a 
number  of  coins,  amongst  which  were 
some  of  Epirus,  Apollonia,  Corinth, 
Syracuse,  and  Corcyra. 


With  regard  to  those  objects  which 
are  generally  found  deposited  in 
tombs,  and  which  on  this  occasion 
were  discovered  at  the  side  of  the 
temple,  it  is  probable,  as  the  latter 
was  placed  in  a  hollow  and  between 
streams  of  water,  that  every  light 
substance  detached  from  the  impend- 
ing hills  would  be  carried  away  by 
the  rains,  till  meeting  obstructions  in 
the  walls  of  the  cella,  or  in  the  sty- 
lobate  of  the  temple,  the  mass  would 
be  buried  under  fresh  deposits  of 
earth,  through  the  continuation  of  the 
same  cause.  If  we  might  therefore 
suppose  that"  the  sides  of  the  valley 
had  at  one  time  been  cleared  and 
rendered  steep,  they  would  thus  have 
been  well  adapted  to  serve  as  bu- 
rial-places for  the  ancient  Greeks;  in 
which  case  we  might  be  justified  in 
concluding  that  such  burial-places 
would  attract  the  cupidity  of  the  Ro- 
man conqueror,  who,  already  flush- 
ed with  the  plunder  of  the  tombs  of 
Corinth,  would  naturally  expect  to 
find  here,  in  a  colony  of  Corinth,  the 
same  Necro-Corinth  and  mortuary 
vases  which  met  with  so  splendid  a 
market  among  his  opulent  patricians. 
Thus,  in  the  search  of  costly  relics 
the  less  precious  would  be  neglected ; 
and  once  buried,  they  would  yield 
to  the  impulse  of  the  torrents. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  prin- 
cipal cause  of  the  ruin  of  this  temple, 
it  must  evidently  be  assigned  to  a 
remote  period,  and  seems   to   have 
been  occasioned  in  the  first  instance 
by  the  action  of  the  subterraneous 
waters,   and  perhaps  completed  by 
the  materials  being  carried  away  dur- 
ing the  efforts  of  Venice  to  secure 
j  her  possessions  against  the  inroads 
I  of  the  Mahometans.     Be  that  as  it 
i  may,  the  Corfiote,  whose  breast  is  ani- 
mated with  patriotism,  cannot  fail  to 


VERSES   ON    AN    ANTIQUE    SNUFF-BOX. 


295 


behold  these  interesting  relies  with 
feelings  of  national  pride;  and  al- 
though there  may  still  be  some  doubt 
as  to  the  divinity  to  which  this  tem- 
ple may  have  been  consecrated,  the 
hand  of  time  has  imprinted  on  it  a 
character  of  piety  and  classic  taste ; 
and  its  contemplation  is  calculated  to 
awaken  grateful  associations,  and  re- 


membrances of  that  epoch  when  Cor- 
cyra,  in  her  splendid  meridian,  had, 
by  the  exercise  of  her  native  talent, 
and  the  efforts  of  a  courageous  en- 
ergy, become  one  of  the  most  pow- 
erful maritime  states  of  the  ancient 
world.     I  am,  sir,  &c. 

G.  Whitmqre,  R.  E. 


VERSES  ON  AN  ANTIQUE  SNUFF-BOX; 

And  a  new  Sjtcculaiion  modestly  proposed. 


Tnou  art  no  lilliputian  thing, 

No  idle  coxcomb's  toy ; 
But  worthy  Og,  the  giant  king 

Of  Bashan,  to  enjoy. 

What  though  no  splendid  diadem 

Thine  ample  lid  display, 
Though  there  no  precious  costly  gem 

Emit  its  brilliant  ray : 

Yet  round  thy  rim  hath  purest  taste, 

And  art's  elaborate  pow'rs, 
With  patient  skill,  design'd  and  trae'd 

A  wreath  of  shells  and  flowers ; 

Of  shells  and  flowers  which,  years  gone  by, 
Not  thus  might  brightly  shine, 

But  slept,  unseen  of  mortal  eye, 
Deep  in  some  silver  mine. 

Though  fair  be  these,  yet  far  more  fair 

Thy  lid  of  snowy  white, 
Adorn'd  with  carving  rich  and  rare, 

To  charm  the  wond'ring  sight. 

Nor  has  the  molten  metal  known 

A  more  surprising  change, 
Than  on  thy  beauteous  lid  is  shewn 

In  transformation  strange. 

'Twas  once  a  coarse  and  rugged  shell, 

And  seem'd  as  if  design'd 
In  ocean's  darkest  depths  to  dwell, 

Unknown  to  human  kind. 

But,  cast  from  out  its  ocean-bower 
On  some  far-distant  strand, 

Art  claim'd  the  waif,  and  by  her  power 
This  splendid  trophy  plann'd — 


Plann'd  and  perform 'd;  for  sculptur'd 
here, 

The  gazer's  eye  may  know 
The  mighty  rock,  the  mightier  seer 

Who  bade  its  waters  flow. 

Mark  his  uplifted  hand!  behold 
The  gushing  stream  descend ! 

See  male  and  female,  young  and  old, 
Their  eager  arms  extend  ! 

In  vase  or  ewer  behold  them  catch 

The  welcome  crystal  wave, 
And  seem  with  grateful  joy  to  snatch 

A  respite  from  the  grave ! 

Well  hath  the  artist  play'd  his  part, 

And  justly  may  he  claim, 
By  patient,  skilful,  graceful  art, 

The  sculptor's  lasting  fame. 

Nor  would  I  change  with  peer  or  king 

Mine  antique  tabntiere, 
Or  barter  for  a  costlier  thing 

The  beauties  speaking  there. 

Beckford  a  richer  one  might  have, 
They  yet  at  Fonthill  shew  it ; 

But  never  need  the  Muses  crave 
A  nobler  for  a  poet. 

B. 


Mr.  Editou, 

I  can  ill  conjecture  whether 
you  are  a  snuff-taker  or  not.  It  cer- 
tainly is  with  too  many  adepts  a  dirty 
habit;  and  you,  sir,  whom  I  consider, 
ex  officio,  as  a  sort  of  Gold  Stick  in 


296 


QUEEN    CHRISTINA   AND    B0IIUI    THE    ALCIIYMIST. 


waiting  to  le  beau  monde,  without  re- 
ference to  the  exercise  of  your  graver 
functions,  can  hardly  be  expected 
to  tolerate  ultra  snuff-takers.  (I  am 
afraid  I  approximate  to  this  class: 
but  this  is  only  a  confidential  acknow- 
ledgment of  my  infirmity ;  so  pray 
print  it  parenthetically — only  it  is  a 
terrible  long  parenthesis) .  But,  short 
of  this  ultraism,  snuff-taking  has  its 
honorary  professors,  its  amateurs, 
who  now  and  then  indulge  their  ol- 
factories; and  you  may  be  one  of 
these,  without  any  compromise  of 
either'cleanliness  or  courtliness.  But 
even  granting  you  to  have  an  aver- 
sion to  the  practice  altogether,  I  think 
you  would  be  seduced  into  a  pinch 
out  of  the  box  hastily  commemorated 
above,  were  it  only  as  persons  who 
dislike  children  have  been  said  to 
kiss  the  child  for  the  sake  of  the 
nurse.  Whether,  however,  you  might 
resist  its  internal  temptations  or  not, 
I  am  confident  you  are  too  warm  an 
admirer  of  elegant  works  of  art  not 
to  be  delighted  by  its  exterior,  of 
which  I  have  given,  I  fear,  a  very 
imperfect  idea  in  the  preceding 
rhymes.  The  box  is,  as  I  have  hint- 
ed in  the  first  stanza,  of  most  accom- 
modating size,  measuring,  I  speak 
conjecturally,  about  five  inches  by 
four,  and  being  at  least  I  think  three 
in  depth :  its  bottom  is  mother-o'pearl ; 
its  mounting  silver-gilt;  its  lid  a  shell 
of  exquisite  whiteness  and  curious 


carving :  but  for  fear  you  should  be 
no  snuff-taker,  and  for  the  sake  of 
your  fair  readers  who  may  hold  snuff 
and  snuffers  in  abhorrence,  I  forbear 
further  detail,  at  least  of  a  descrip- 
tive kind — what  I  have  to  add  is 
simply  speculative,  and  relates  to  a 
project,  at  present  somewhat  undi- 
gested, but  which,  when  sufficiently 
matured,  I  may  trouble  you  to  lay 
before  the  public.  Every  possessor 
of  a  curiosity,  natural  or  artificial,  is 
of  course  disposed  to  turn  it  to  ac- 
count. I  am  naturally  rather  of  a 
shy  and  bashful  turn,  though  some- 
what garrulous  on  paper,  and  as  com- 
plete a  recluse  as  Wordsworth  has 
drawn  his  Solitary.  But  I  have  now 
and  then  felt  an  inclination,  like  Par- 
nell's  Hermit,  to  see  a  little  of  the 
world,  and  more  especially  of  the 
writing  and  publishing  world.  Now 
do  you  think  if  I  were  to  come  up 
to  your  wilderness  of  houses,  hire  a 
snug  reputable  sort  of  apartment,  and 
advertise  "  Mr.  B.  and  his  Box  at 
Home"  that  the  speculation  would 
answer  1  I  will  vouch  for  one  of  us 
being  worth  seeing  at  any  rate  ;  but 
I  would  not,  as  a  prudent  man,  run 
too  great  risks.  What  would  you 
set  down  as  a  plausible  week's  in- 
come, supposing  I  were  to  admit  la- 
dies and  gentlemen  at  half-a-crown, 
and  children  at  one  shilling?  But  my 
sheet  is  full,  and  I  can  speculate  no 
further. 


CHRISTINA  QUEEN  OF  SWEDEN,  AND  BORRI  THE 

ALCHYMIST. 


Queen  Christina  of  Sweden,  af- 
ter her  conversion  to  the  Romish 
faith,  at  the  instigation  of  Pope  Alex- 
ander VII.  took  a  journey  to  her  na- 
tive country,  for  the  purpose  of  es- 
tablishing Catholicism  among  the  sub- 


jects she  had  forsaken,  and  to  addict 
herself  to  philosophy.  In  her  pro- 
gress from  Rome  she  remained  some 
time  at  Hamburgh,  where  she  be- 
came acquainted  and  closely  con- 
nected  with   the    noted    alchymist, 


QUEEN    CIIUISTINA    AND    DOHltl   TIIK    ALCHYMIST. 


John  Francis  Borri  of  Milan — a  cir- 
cumstance which  had  greater  influ- 
ence on  her  future  character  and 
pursuits,  than  Borri  himself  could 
have  foreseen.  What  Cagliostro  has 
been  in  our  times,  this  impostor 
proved  at  this  earlier  epocha,  and  he 
became  the  founder  of  an  alchymical 
sect,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of 
FratricelU.  He  not  only  pretended 
to  transmute  the  baser  metals  into 
gold,  but  also  made  pretensions  to 
intercourse  with  supernatural  agents, 
which  enabled  him  to  read  the  most 
secret  thoughts  of  his  brethren.  He 
even  professed  to  discern  their  souls 
"  enveloped  by  rays  of  diversified 
hues,  with  their  protecting  genii  ho- 
vering over  their  heads,  and  envi- 
roned by  a  stream  of  light."  He 
also  affirmed  he  was  the  chosen  mor- 
tal to  spread  the  Catholic  faith  over 
all  the  earth,  gathering  all  mankind 
into  one  flock,  with  the  pope  for  their 
pastor ;  and  that  the  angel  Michael 
had  been  sent  to  him  from  heaven 
with  a  sword,  on  which  the  image  of 
the  seven  beings  was  depicted. 

That  this  daring  imposture  was 
well  suited  to  the  temper  of  the 
times,  was  evident  from  the  rapid  in- 
crease of  Borri1  s  followers.  They 
became  so  numerous,  conspiring  in 
various  intrigues  which  aimed  at  so- 
vereign power  for  their  leader,  that 
the  Roman  pontiff  found  it  necessary 
to  call  forth  the  powers  of  the  Inqui- 
sition to  crush  them.  Borri  had  al- 
ready rendered  himself  obnoxious  to 
this  vindictive  tribunal  by  some  opi-  j 
nions  which  he  broached  concerning 
the  Virgin  Mary.  He  secured  his 
safety  by  flight,  and  the  tremendous 
Inquisition  wreaked  its  vengeance  by 
condemning  him  to  be  burnt  in  effi- 
gy, and  his  writings  to  be  cast  into 
the  flames  at  the  same  time. 

Vol.  II.  No.  XI. 


He  took  refuge  in  Germany,  where 
he  instructed  sovereigns  in  the  mys- 
teries of  alchymy,  and  obtained  large 
remunerations  for  presenting  them 
with  a  phial  of  his  aqua  divorum. 
He  at  length  fixed  his  residence  at 
Strasburg,  and  the  fame  of  his  mi- 
racles far  transcended  those  of  Prince 
Hohenlohe.  He  removed  to  Am- 
sterdam, where  he  excited  unbound- 
ed admiration.  He  had  a  numerous 
retinue,  went  about  in  a  coach  and 
six,  and  in  all  his  establishment  sup- 
ported a  style  of  princely  magnifi- 
cence. From  all  quarters,  even  at 
the  distance  of  Paris,  multitudes 
flocked  to  solicit  cures.  He  accepted 
neither  fee  nor  reward — was  never 
known  to  receive  money  by  post,  nor 
by  any  other  channel :  it  was  there- 
fore a  natural  inference,  that  he  had 
discovered  the  philosopher's  stone — 
for  how  else  could  he  live  at  such  a 
vast  expense  without  any  visible 
means  ? 

This  harlequinade  terminated  in 
the  disappearance  of  Borri,  carrying 
with  him  immense  sums  in  silver, 
which  he  undertook  to  convert  into 
gold,  besides  precious  stones,  with 
which  he  was  intrusted,  to  perfect 
their  valuable  properties.  He  had 
the  audacity  to  exhibit  his  powers 
at  Hamburgh.  There  he  met  with 
Queen  Christina,  who  played  the 
buffia,  eagerly  attending  to  his  de- 
velopment of  the  occult  sciences,  by 
whose  potency  he  enacted  a  trans- 
mutation of  the  metal  in  her  coffers. 
Her  connection  with  Borri  gave  so 
fatal  a  bias  to  her  mind,  that  she 
wasted  enormous  sums  in  experi- 
ments to  discover  the  "  universal 
medicine,"  which  was  to  prolong  her 
life  another  century.  She  tried  the 
effects  of  a  compound  upon  her  own 
person,  and  had  scarcely  swallowed 
R  it 


298 


DKSCRIPTION    OF    THE    ANCIENT    PALACE    OF    CHARLES  V. 


it,  when  she  was  seized  with  convul- 
sions. The  immediate  skill  of  her 
physicians  rescued  her  from  the  jaws 
of  death.  This  danger  had  not  the 
effect  of  abating  her  credulity.  An 
English  quack  waited  upon  her  at 
Rome,  and  produced  numerous  cer- 
tificates, to  prove  that  he  was  pos- 
sessed of  a  secret  to  prolong  the  vi- 
gour of  youth  one  hundred  and  twen- 
ty years.  Christina  offered  him  ten 
thousand  ducats  for  his  secret ;  but 
her  almoner,  the  Cardinal  Azzolini, 
procured  the  expulsion  of  the  im- 
postor from  Rome. 


Bom  went  to  Copenhagen,  when 
he  took  leave  of  Queen  Christina, 
and  gained  such  ascendency  over 
Frederick  III.  that  he  never  moved 
from  his  capital  without  bringing  with 
him  a  furnace  for  processes  in  alchy- 
my.  The  royal  pupil  made  unbound- 
ed pecuniary  sacrifices  to  those  chi- 
meras, which  drew  such  hatred  upon 
his  instructor,  that  if  Born  had  not 
made  a  timely  escape,  the  Danish 
nobility  would  have  condemned  him 
to  the  halter  or  scaffold  at  the  death 
of  their  king. 


DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  ANCIENT  PALACE  OF  CHARLES  V. 

OF  FRANCE. 


The  Hotel  de  St.  Paul,  built  by 
Charles  V.  was,  as  is  specified  in  his 
edict  of  1364',  intended  to  be  the  ho- 
tel of  great  diversions.  Like  all  the 
royal  houses  of  those  times  it  had 
large  towers;  such  additions  being- 
thought  to  give  an  air  of  domination 
and  majesty  to  the  building.  The 
gardens,  instead  of  yews  and  lindens, 
were  planted  with  apple,  pear,  and 
cherry  trees,  and  vines;  besides  beds 
of  rosemary  and  lavender,  peas  and 
beans,  and  very  large  arbours  or 
bowers.  The  inner  courts  were  lined 
with  pigeon-houses,  and  full  of  poul- 
try, which  the  king's  tenants  were 
obliged  to  send,  and  here  they  were 
fattened  for  his  table  and  those  of 
his  household.  The  beams  and  joists 
in  the  principal  apartments  were  de- 
corated with  tin  Jieurs-de-Us  gilt. 
All  the  windows  had  iron  bars,  with 
a  wire  lattice,  to  prevent  the  entrance 
of  the  pigeons.  The  glazing  was, 
like  that  of  our  ancient  churches, 
painted  with  coats  of  arms,  emblems, 
and  saints.  The  seats  were  joint 
stools,  forms,  and  benches:  the  king 


had  arm  -  chairs,  with  red  leather 
and  silk  fringes.  The  beds  were 
called  couches  when  ten  or  twelve 
feet  square,  and  those  of  only  six 
feet  square  couchettes :  these  large 
dimensions  suited  a  custom  which 
subsisted  for  a  long  time  in  France — 
that  guests  particularly  esteemed 
were  kept  all  night  and  in  the  same 
bed  with  the  master  of  the  house. 
Charles  V.  used  to  dine  about  eleven, 
supped  at  seven,  and  all  the  court 
were  usually  in  bed  by  nine  in  the 
winter,  and  ten  in  summer.  His 
queen,  agreeably  to  an  old  and  laud- 
able custom  for  preventing  any  idle 
or  loose  thought  at  table,  had  a  learn- 
ed man,  who,  during  the  meal,  rela- 
ted the  actions  or  made  an  eulogium 
of  some  deceased  person,  especially 
of  one  eminent  in  piety.  It  was  in 
Charles's  reign  that  the  mode  arose 
of  emblazoning  apparel :  the  women 
wore  their  husbands'  shield  on  the 
right  side  of  their  gowns,  and  their 
own  on  the  left.  This  fashion  con- 
tinued nearly  a  century. 


299 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


Vocal  Anthology,  or  the  Flowers 
of  Song,  being  a  Selection  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  esteemed  vocal 
Music  of  all  Europe,  with  English 
Words;  also  an  Appendix,  con- 
sisting of  original  vocal  Compo- 
sitions, and  a  Catalogue  raisonnte 
(e?)  of  its    Contents.      Nos.  V. 
and   VI.      Pr.   6s.   each.— (John 
Gale,  Burton-street,  Bond-street). 
The  "  Vocal  Anthology,"  of  the 
prior  portions  of  which  we  felt  called 
upon  to  speak  in  terms  of  unqualified 
approbation,  not  only  maintains  its 
character,  but  evidently  rises  in  merit 
and  interest.     The  selections,  which 
are  conspicuous  in  point  of  intrinsic 
value  and  variety,  bespeak  a  culti- 
vated taste  and  an  extensive  acquaint- 
ance with  the  best  musical  produc- 
tions of  every  age  and  country.  The 
principal  object  of  the  publication 
is  thus  fully  accomplished.     As  to 
the  original  compositions,  we  have 
as  yet  met  with  none  from  which  we 
could  justly  withhold   approbation; 
but  we  are  free  to  say,  that  this  de- 
partment of  the  work  is  susceptible 
of  greater  efforts.     Amidst  gems  col- 
lected from  every  region,  comparison 
will  naturally  step  in,  and  expect  ex- 
cellence in  the  original  portion.  The 
critical  and  biographical  notices  are 
valuable.     These,  too,  evince  sound 
musical  taste  and  judgment,  as  well 
as  a  proper  knowledge  of  the  art  and 
of  its  history.     Under  these  favour- 
able circumstances,  the  "  Vocal  An- 
thology" bids  fair  to  acquire  a  rank 
which  will  ensure  its  reputation  for 
many  years  to  come. 

The  contents  of  Nos.  V.  and  VI. 
are  as  follow : 


No.  V. 

English    1.  Wapping  Old  Stairs.— Percy. 

•2.  When   for    the    worlds    repj>se 
(Glee.)— LordMoRNiNGTON. 

Scotch      3.  Of  a'  the  Airts. 

4.  The  Ewe  bughts  (Duet.) 

German   5.  Soave  sia  il  vento. — Mozart. 

6.  How  blithe  (Duet.)— Himmel. 

7.  The    Silvan    Shades    (Duet)  — 

SCHULTZ. 

Italian      8.  French  Song  by  Mary  Stuart.— 

Richini. 
Original  9    The  Lark. 

No.  VI. 

English    1.  I  attempt  from  love's  sickness  — 

PuRCELI.. 

2.   The  Owl  is  abroad.  — Ditto.. 

Scotch      3.  Sensibility. 

4.  Charlie  is  my  Darling. 

5.  Canld  Kail. 

Italian      6.  Et  incamatus  (Terz.)-CnzRtiBim 

German    7.   Cynthia. — Himmel. 

French      8.  Ilm'adcmande. — Boyeldieu. 

9.  Tu  m'as  quitld. 
Original  10.  Land  of  the  Brave  (Glee.) 

"  Five  Bumper  Toasts" for  the  Eng- 
lish Gentleman,  a  Duet  with  a 
Chorus;  the  Words  by  Dr. Henry 
Fich,  Professor  of  the  German 
Language  and  Literature;  the  Mu- 
sic,  partly  founded  on  an  old  Ger- 
man Tune,  arranged  by  R.  W. 
Evans.  Pr.  2s.  —  (Evans,  146, 
Strand.) 

Lest  some  of  our  readers  might 
think  this  to  be  a  common  carousing 
effusion,  we  deem  it  right  to  state, 
that  it  is  quite  a  gentlemanly  drink- 
ing song;  not  only  unobjectionable, 
but  commendable,  in  a  moral  point  of 
view.  The  poem  is  written  with  so 
much  good  taste  and  right  feeling, 
that  we  regret  our  limits  forbid  its 
whole  insertion.  A  stanza  or  two  will 
be  sufficient  to  justify  this  opinion. 
R  it  2 


.300 


MUSICAL    RBYIKW. 


My  first  to  all  that,  nobly  drinking, 

Press  to  their  cups  with  ardour  free; 
Not,  brutelike,  under  surfeit  sinking, 

Deface  thy  stamp,  divinity  ! 
5. 
My  third  to  him,  with  inmost  feeling, 

Who  opes  to  mis'ry  heart  and  ear, 
Delights  in  others'  sorrows  healing, 

And  drops  the  sympathizing  tear. 

The  last  stanza,  equally  impressive, 
is  consecrated  to  Britain's  glory  and 
prosperity ;  a  tribute  which  the  au- 
thor pays  to  the  hospitality  he  has 
experienced  in  England.  All  this  is 
as  it  should  be,  and  we  make  no 
doubt  the  good  reception  was  well 
merited. 

The  melody  is  vivid  and  pleasing, 
and  suits  the  text  admirably.     The 
harmonic  arrangement,  especially  in 
the  symphony,  might  have  been  some- 
what less  plain,  but  upon  the  whole 
it  is  proper  and  adequate. 
The  National  Air  "  Nelson"  com- 
posed by  J.  Braliam,  with  an  In- 
troduction and  Variations  for  the 
Piano-forte,  composed,  and  dedi- 
cated to  Miss  Catherine  Hobhouse, 
by  Ferdinand  Ries.  Op. 96.  No.4; 
No.  28  of  Variations.     Pr.  3s. — 
(Goulding  and  Co.) 
We  wish  our  pen  were  as  ready  in 
devising  variation  in  expression  when 
reviewing  musical  variations,  as  our 
composers  are  prolific  in  writing  them. 
We  must  say  the  same  thing  over  and 
over  again ;  there  is  no  alternative,  if 
we  mean  to  say  any  thing  at  all.     To 
avoid  such  repetition,  we  rather  re- 
frain from  entering  into  particulars. 
The  introduction  in  C  minor  is  an  in- 
teresting   short   movement,    manly, 
grave;  the  variations,  seven  in  num- 
ber, in  C  major,  C  minor,  and  one 
indeed  in  F,  are  written  with  that  fa- 
cility, taste,  and  science,  and  that — 
what  shall  we  call  it? — that  vigorous 
nerve  of  decisive  melodic  expression 


!  which  flows  from  Mr.  Ries's  pen,  not 
in  drops,  but  in  abundant  and,  we 
will  add,  genial  showers.    The  varia- 
tions are  of  a  superior  order,  but,  af- 
!  ter  all,  they  are  but  variations.     We 
wish  we  could  prevail  upon  such  men 
as  Mr.  Ries  to  devote  more  of  their 
time  to  original  compositions.     If  so- 
natas are  really  gone  by,  let's  have 
i  rondos,  divertimentos,  or   even  ca- 
:  prizzios,  any  o's  or  a's,  but,  for  love's 
sake,  not  founded  upon  a  favourite 
1  theme,  not  founded  upon  any  thing 
but  the  composer's  own  imagination. 
Fantasia  on   the  favourite  Ballad 
"  Home,  sweet  home,"  with  an  In~ 
troduction,   Variations,   and  Po- 
lacca  for  the  Flute,  and  an  Ac- 
companiment for  the  Piano-forte, 
ad  libitum,  composed,  and  dedi- 
cated to  H.  Forrester,  Esq.  by  C. 
Nicholson.     Pr.  4s.  —  (Goulding 
and  Co.) 

Not  so  much  a  fantasia,  as  a  theme 
and  variations,  with  an  introduction. 
Summarily  as  we  are  determined 
upon  dispatching  variation -compo- 
sitions, unless  there  be  strong  calls 
for  particular  comment  pro  or  con, 
we  think  it  an  act  of  justice  to  Mr. 
N.  to  bear  testimony  to  the  melodic 
elegance  with  which  he  has  cast  the 
above  simple  and  pretty  theme  into 
four  or  five  characteristically  differ- 
ent forms.  The  slow  introductory 
movement  too  is  very  beautiful,  it  is 
gracefulness  itself;  and  the  anticipa- 
tory tints  of  the  subject  of  the  vari- 
ed air  are  happily  imagined.  The 
concluding  polaccais  extremely  neat, 
full  of  taste  and  spirit.  Although 
the  piano -forte  accompaniment  is 
stated  to  be  optional,  we  should  be 
sorry  to  dispense  with  it,  as  it  affords 
a  strong  and  well  devised  support  to 
the  flute-part,  which,  by  the  way,  de- 
mands a  player  of  some  maturity-; 


MUSICAL    REVIEW 


301 


"  The  Dawn,  or  the  Shepherd'1  s  CaU™ 
an  Introduction,  Air,  and  Rondo, 
composed,  and  dedicated  to  Miss 
Stapylton,  by  Joseph  Hill.   Pr.  4s. 
■ — {dementi  and  Co.) 
The  introduction,  although  brief, 
evinces  taste,  imaginative  powers,  and 
considerable  familiarity  with  the  high- 
er sphere  of  the  art.     The  rondo  is 
also  of  small  extent,  but  in  every  re- 
spect satisfactory.     But  the   princi- 
pal portion  of  the  publication  lies  be- 
tween these  two  movements.     It  is 
the  air,  "  Blow,  blow,   thou   vernal 
gale,"  varied  in  seven  different  ways. 
Variations   again!    When  shall  we 
have  enough  of  them?    Were  the 
glut  in  the  market  less  overwhelming, 
Mr.  Hill's  labour  would  be  sure  to 
create  a  very  favourable  impression : 
his  variations  are  written  in  a  free 
and,  we  may  add,  in  an  elegant  and 
sometimes  even  uncommon  style ;  the 
passages  in  bass  and  treble  are  par- 
ticularly fluent,  and  afford  excellent 
manual  exercise.     The  variation  in 
E  minor  presents  some  original  con- 
ceptions.    What  can  be  the  reason 
that  this  variation  alone,  and  no  other 
part  of  the  whole  publication,  has  the 
time  metronomically  indicated  ? 
Introduction  and  Variations  on  a  fa- 
vourite French  Air,  by  Fontaine, 
for  the  Piano-forte,  ivith  Flute  Ac- 
companiments, composed,  and  de- 
dicated to  John  Maltass,  Esq.  by 
J.  Jay,  M.  D.  Pr.  3s.— (Mitchell, 
New  Bond-street.) 
More    variations!    variations   for 
ever !  If  ever  there  be  an  idea  again 
of  a  duty  upon  music,  we  hope  the 
beginning  will   be   made    with  lay- 
ing a  bouncing  tax  upon  variations. 
Wre  are  so  saturated  with  them,  that, 
be  they  ever  so  meritorious,  our  an- 
tipathy, we  fear,  will  prevent  us  from 
doing  justice  to  the  writers.    In  the 


present  case,  fortunately,  a  march  of 
considerable  extent  comes  first.  Its 
prior  part  is  not  very  uncommon,  but 
in  the  sequel  many  redeeming  fea- 
tures occur.  Dr.  Jay  has  displayed 
much  compositorial  ingenuity ;  he  has 
handled  his  motivo  up  and  down  in 
a  very  interesting  manner,  and  intro- 
duced considerable  selectness  of  har- 
monic combination. 

The  theme  of  the  variations  is  stat- 
ed to  be  an  air  by  Fontaine.  Mr.  F. 
we  hope,  does  not  claim  the  inven- 
tion, for  it  is  nearly  note  for  note  the 
well-known  melody  of  "  Ich  bin  lie- 
derlich,  du  bisl  liederlich"  &c.  With 
our  aversion  to  variations,  it  is  not 
saying  a  little,  if  we  own  that  these 
have  given  us  all  the  satisfaction  we 
anticipated,  except  as  to  the  varia- 
tion pp.  6  and  7,  the  style  of  which  is 
trifling.  The  very  geometrical  as- 
pect of  it  bespeaks  its  nature;  it 
looks  for  all  the  world  like  a  quarter 
of  a  yard  of  small-patterned  paper- 
hanging.  The  succeeding  variation, 
however,  makes  amends;  and  the  co- 
da too  does  the  author  great  credit. 
"  When  Orpheus  lost  his  blooming 

bride,"  Lines  to  a  Flute,  written  by 

H.  L.  Esq.,   composed  for,    and 

dedicated  to,  Miss  Powis,  by  G. 

Kiallmark.     Pr.  2s.  —  (Goulding 

and  Co.) 

This  is  a  song  of  some  pretension; 
the  composition  consisting  of  a  con- 
siderable introduction,  a  recitativo, 
an  andantino  f  in  E  major,  an  alle- 
gro f  in  E  minor,  and  a  resumption 
of  the  andantino,  |.  The  conduct  of 
the  melody  is  often  extremely  soft 
and  pathetic;  the  accompaniment  for 
the  piano-forte  presents  great  and 
tasteful  variety  both  as  to  harmony 
and  episodic  passages;  and  the  plan 
and  rhythmic  arrangement  are  every 
where  satisfactory.     It  is  evident  that 


302 


Tin:    DtORAMA. 


Mr.  K.  sat  down  with  an  intention  to 
exert  his  talent,  and  this  praisewor- 
thy endeavour  has  been  crowned 
with  full  success. 

"  Oh!  sweet  is  the  gale  that  blows 
over  the  sea;"  the  Poetry  from 
Mr.  Planchts  Poem  "  Shere  Af- 
kuni"  the  Music  composed  by 
Henry  R.  Bishop.  Pr.  2s.--(Gould- 
ing  and  Co.) 

There  is  a  graceful  ease  of  diction 
and  a  striking  absence  of  affectation 
in  Mr.  Planche's  poetry,  which  ren- 
der it  particularly  susceptible  of  mu- 
sical treatment.  His  recent  interest- 
ing poem  of  "  Shere  Afkun"  would 
present  various  fragments  well  adapt- 
ed for  composition,  besides  the  one 
before  us,  which  is  essentially  lyric. 
Mr.  Bishop  seems  to  have  been  fully 
aware  of  this  advantage,  and  he  has 
very  successfully  availed  himself  of 
the  opportunity.  The  motivo  is  re- 
markable for  its  attractive  simplicity, 
and  also  for  the  rhythmical  singula- 
rity of  a  period  of  seven  bars,  which 
is  rendered  unobjectionable  by  a  suc- 
ceeding counterperiod  of  the  same 
extent,   thus   preserving   symmetry. 


In  the  beginning  of  the  4th  page,  a 
peculiar   modulation   leads   from   F 
major  to  a  close  upon  A  minor,  very 
much  in  Rossini's  manner.     To  the 
erroneous  accent  upon  lotus  (or  lotos, 
as  Mr.  P.  calls  it,)  at  "  Where  the  | 
bliie  lotos  |  springs  let  lis,"  |  &c.  it 
would  not  have  been  difficult  to  af- 
ford a  melodic  remedy. 
Henri/  R.  Bishop's  admired  Quar- 
telt,  "  What  phrase,  sad  and  soft,'' 
arranged  as  a  Duet  for  the  Pia- 
no-forte, and  dedicated  to  Misses 
Julia  and  Emily  Shuchburgh,  by 
D.  Bruguier.  Pr.  2s.  Gd.—  (Gould- 
ing  and  Co.) 

Mr.  Bruguier  has  arranged  this 
favourite  quartett  of  Mr.  Bishop's 
in  a  very  pleasing  and  satisfactory 
manner.  The  harmony  is  effectively 
preserved,  and  yet  the  two  parts 
fall  within  the  scope  of  very  moderate 
performers,  especially  that  of  the  tre- 
ble, which  is  free  from  any  intricacy 
whatever.  The  duet  altogether  is 
capable  of  placing  the  proficiency  of 
the  pupils  in  a  very  advantageous 
light. 


FINE  ARTS. 


THE    DIORAMA. 


We  cannot  overlook  so  pleasing 
and  novel  an  exhibition  as  the  Dio- 
rama, lately  constructed  in  the  Re- 
gent's Park.  It  is  a  French  improve- 
ment upon  panoramic  views,  possess- 
ing facilitiesfar  surpassing  those  paint- 
ings in  style  of  general  execution,  as 
well  as  in  the  scientific  application 
and  distribution  of  the  necessary  light 
for  their  display.  The  great  and 
decided  advantage  which  the  Diora- 
ma has  over  the  panoramic  exhibi- 


tions which  we  have  heretofore  seen 
in  this  country,  is,  that  in  addition 
to  the  fidelity  of  representation  which 
the  artist  has  the  means  of  pourtray- 
ing,  there  is,  by  some  ingenious  con- 
trivance for  letting  the  light  fall  upon 
the  picture,  a  power  obtained  of  giv- 
ing, in  silent  and  almost  impercepti- 
ble gradations,  all  the  varying  hues 
of  the  atmosphere,  distinguishing 
them  with  the  most  natural  truth, 
and  one  succeeding  the  other  with 


THE    DIOKVMA. 


303 


the  most  forcible  illusion.  The  spec- 
tator enjoys,  while  surveying  the  land- 
scape, all  those  transitory  changes 
of  aerial  hue  of  which  the  varying 
state  of  the  weather  is  productive  in 
nature,  from  the  angry  and  tempes- 
tuous blackening  of  the  storm,  to  the 
transparent  beauty  and  stillness  of 
moonlight  solitude.  The  pleasing 
manner  in  which  the  aerial  shadows 
are  driven  along,  and  the  complete 
illusion  with  which  they  sweep  over 
the  surface  of  the  picture,  can  only 
be  felt  by  the  spectator — a  mere  de- 
scription is  inadequate  to  convey  a 
just  idea  of  the  executive  merits  of 
the  exhibition. 

The  panorama  gives,  it  is  true,  a 
correct  view  of  nature;  but  it  is  ne- 
cessarily limited  to  one  point  of  time 
— the  storm  and  the  calm  cannot  be 
developed  upon  the  canvas  as  they 
are  seen  to  arise  in  the  successive 
operations  of  nature.  We  have  one 
view,  and  that  only ;  and  we  might 
say  in  the  language  of  the  poet,  upon 
beholding  a  Grecian  landscape, 

"  Such  is  the  aspect  of  this  shore; 

'Tis  Greece,  hut  living  Greece  no  more! 

So  coldly  sweet,  so  deadly  fair, 

We  star%  for  soul  is  wanting  there:" 

but  in  the  Diorama  this  monotony 
of  effect  is  entirely  obviated  by  the 
fluctuating  lights  which  occupy  the 
attention  and  sustain  the  curiosity 
of  the  spectator,  while  they  preserve 
throughout  the  fidelity  of  the  repre- 
sentation through  all  the  transitions 
of  weather  and  diurnal  rotation. 

The  present  exhibition  consists  of 
two  views,  which  are  successively 
opened.  The  first  is  a  view  of  the 
Valley  of  Sarnen,  in  the  canton  of 
Underwald,  in  Switzerland.  This  val- 
ley is  represented  as  being  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  and  romantic  in 
Switzerland:  it  is  surrounded  by  lof- 


ty mountains,  whose  outlines  are  for 
the  most  part  gracefully  varied;  it  is 
traversed  by  a  river,  and  intersected 
by  numerous  streams,  which  seem 
tributary  to  the  beautiful  lake  in  the 
bed  of  the  valley.  Some  pleasing 
objects  meet  the  eye  in  the  mountain- 
ous scenery ;  and  there  are  a  few  scat- 
tered hamlets  and  churches,  which 
are  agreeably  situated.  On  the  right 
fore-ground  is  a  commodious  chalet, 
where,  it  is  said,  travellers  are  hospi- 
tably entertained  by  the  generous  own- 
er; near  it  is  a  fountain,  from  which 
a  copious  flow  of  water  runs  bub- 
bling. The  scenic  view  is  well  paint- 
ed, and  the  diversified  effect  produc- 
ed by  the  varying  shadows,  as  they 
become  transparent  or  opaque,  ac- 
cording to  the  approach  of  storm 
or  the  clearing  up  of  the  atmosphere, 
cannot  be  surpassed.  The  stillness 
and  clearness  of  the  lake  at  one  mo- 
ment, yielding  at  another,  as  the  wea- 
ther changes,  to  the  successive  cop- 
per and  leaden  hues  of  the  dense 
clouds  "  prest  by  incumbent  storms" 
— the  distant  view  of  the  snow-clad 
mountain,  exhibiting  in  such  a  beau- 
tiful tone  the  varied  effects  of  light, 
shade,  and  colouring,  according  as 
the  sun's  rays  and  passing  clouds  act 
upon  its  surface,  cannot  be  too  high- 
ly admired;  the  tints  of  nature  are 
in  every  part  of  the  effect  exquisitely 
pourtrayed,  and  the  charms  of  the 
Swiss  scenery  displayed  in  the  most 
extraordinary  manner. 

The  saloon,  from  which  the  views 
are  seen  by  the  spectator,  is  by  the  sig- 
nal of  a  bell  made  to  revolve  hori- 
zontally upon  (we  presume)  a  cylin- 
drical axis;  so  that  without  the  incon- 
venience of  removing  his  chair,  or 
the  slightest  agitation  from  the  mo- 
tion, he  finds  himself  placed  before 
a  new  picture.  The  saloon  is  so  con- 


304 


THE    DIORAMA. 


structed,  that  as  it  revolves,  it  shuts 
up  one  view,  and  exposes  the  other. 

The  next  view  in  this  Diorama  is 
that  of  the  Interior  of  Canterbury 
Cathedral;  and  the  part  of  the  ve- 
nerable pile  exhibited  is  the  Chapel 
of  the  Trinity.  It  is  in  a  rich  Gothic 
style  of  architecture.  The  columns 
that  divide  the  nave  from  the  aisles 
are  composed  of  three  compartments, 
the  lower  one  being  formed  of  three 
pillars  joined  together.  The  win- 
dows are  of  large  dimensions,  and 
of  modern  structure,  with  some  ex- 
ceptions, in  which  curious  remains  of 
old  painted  glass  are  still  preserved. 
The  upper  extremity  of  the  cathe- 
dral is  occupied  by  four  tombs,  which 
are  erected  in  the  intervals  between 
the  pillars.  The  nearest  monument 
on  the  right  of  the  spectator  is  that 
of  Edward  the  Black  Prince.  There 
are  also  the  tombs  of  Henry  IV.  and 
his  queen,  of  Odo  de  Coligny,  Bishop 
elect  of  Beauvais,  and  Dean  Woot- 
ton ;  and  at  the  further  extremity  of 
the  chapel  is  the  chair  for  the  en- 
thronement of  the  archbishops.  In 
the  fore-ground  the  artist  has  painted 
some  masons'  tools,  fragments  of  mar- 
ble, timber,  &c.  as  if  placed  there  in 
prosecution  of  repairs,  and  to  aid  the 
general  effect. 

This  cathedral  is  peculiarly  well 
adapted  for  pictorial  effect:  it  is  en- 
tirely vaulted  with  stone,  and  before 
it  was  exposed  to  the  barbarous  fury 
of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  it  contained 
in  stained  glass  and  other  decorations 
some  splendid  examples  of  its  mag- 
nificence in  the  time  of  Becket.  It 
was  these  ornaments  that  Erasmus 
said  "  all  shone,  sparkled,  and  glit- 
tered with  rare  and  very  large  jew- 
els; and  even  in  the  whole  church 
appeared  a  profuseness  above  that 
of  kings."     Dugdale  is  equally  co- 


pious in  his  account  of  the  magnifi- 
cence of  this  cathedral.  The  inte- 
rior of  the  chapels  was  most  scan- 
dalously defaced  by  the  fanatical  rage 
of  1642;  but  the  durability  of  the 
great  materials  of  the  architecture, 
and  the  solidity  of  the  Gothic  orna- 
ments, defied  the  sacrilegious  rage 
of  the  assailants,  who  fired,  accord- 
ing to  Doctor  Paske,  one  of  the  re- 
sident prebendaries  of  the  time,  re- 
peated discharges  of  musketry  with- 
in and  without  the  building.  The 
fine  architecture  of  Trinity  Chapel 
is  accurately  represented  at  the  Di- 
orama: the  admirable  correctness  of 
the  perspective,  and  the  manner  in 
which  the  parts  of  the  aisles  and 
nave  in  the  distance  are  developed; 
again,  the  novel  distribution  of  light 
upon  the  picture,  and  the  transpa- 
rency of  the  painted  glass,  present 
a  combined  effect,  the  most  absolute- 
ly illusive  ever  produced  by  the  im- 
proved powers  of  art.  Turn  which 
way  we  will  in  this  exhibition  (we  al- 
most forgot  that  by  the  rotatory  mo- 
tion of  the  saloon  we  need  not  turn 
at  all),  it  illustrates  Pope's  line, 

"  Soft  illusions,  dear  deceits  arise  j" 

and  justifies  the  expectation  of  the 
proprietors,  that  their  work  "  will  be 
considered  as  the  triumph  of  per- 
spective, and  the  ne  phis  ultra  of 
pictorial  illusion." 

It  is  due  to  the  inventors  and  in- 
troducers of  the  Diorama  to  say, 
that  the  principle  is  borrowed  from 
the  French.  About  eighteen  months 
ago  the  Diorama  was  constructed  at 
Paris  upon  the  present  plan.  The 
saloon  of  that  erected  in  the  Re- 
gent's Park  is  larger  than  the  Pari- 
sian, and  capable  of  conveniently  ac- 
commodating two  hundred  persons: 
it  revolves  in  somewhat  of  a  different 
manner  from  the  French  saloon,   al- 


PRESE: 


PUtie-2!' 


I 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


305 


though  the  machinery  is  constructed 
upon  the  same  principle  by  (we  un- 
derstand) Mr.  Topham,  the  engineer 
of  White  Cross-street,  under  the  di- 
rection of  Messrs  Morgan  and  Pu- 
gin,  the  architects  of  the  building, 
which  has  been  erected  upon  the 
most  expensive  scale,  and  does  credit 
to  their  taste  and  skill.  We  trust 
that  Mr.  Smith,  the  proprietor,  will 


reap  the  profit  to  which  so  heavy  a 
speculation  and  so  great  an  improve- 
ment entitle  him.  The  Canterbury 
view  is  painted  by  the  French  artist, 
Bouton,  who,  as  well  as  Monsieur 
Daguerre,  is  said  to  be  engaged  up- 
on several  other  interesting  views, 
which  are  to  be  exhibited  in  succes- 
sion at  the  Diorama. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


HEAD-DUESSES. 

1.  Turban  of  blue  crepe  lisse,  con- 
fined with  white  satin  bands  edged 
with  blond,  and  ornamented  with 
golden  ears  of  corn. 

2.  Hair  in  short  full  curls  on  the 
forehead;  ringlets  on  each  side  of 
the  ear;  a  branch  of  Van  Dieman's 
bells,  or  campanule  ttrangtre,  with 
stamens  of  spun  glass,  in  front  and 
at  the  top  of  the  head :  the  hind  hair 
drawn  up  plain,  and  supported  by  a 
gold  comb. 

3.  Pale  brown  beaver  riding-hat; 
silk  band  of  the  same  colour,  and  a 
gold  buckle  in  front.  Brussels  lace 
veil. 

4.  Fancy  straw  bonnet,  lined  with 
rose  colour ;  a  plume  of  white  ostrich 
feathers  tipped  with  rose  colour  on 
the  right  side,  and  a  wreath  of  ane- 
mones and  minor  convolvuluses  round 
the  crown. 


FULL    DRESS. 

Lace  dress  over  a  blue  satin  slip : 
the  corsage  full,  supported  in  the 
centre  by  a  row  of  white  satin  leaves 
formed  into  a  stomacher  in  front,  and 
shaped  behind  by  blue  satin  lacings : 

Vol.  II.  No.  XL 


very  full  sleeve,  separated  into  bouf- 
fants by  blue  satin  Vandykes  extend- 
ing half  way  up  the  sleeve,  and  is  fi- 
nished by  a  broad  Vandyke  lace:  blue 
satin  band,  with  radiated  leaves  be- 
hind. The  skirt  is  elegantly  orna- 
mented with  a  row  of  white  satin  uni- 
form flowers  and  an  antique  wreath 
of  leaves  in  Moravian  work,  with  a 
very  rich  embroidered  border  of 
flowers  beneath,  united  by  semicir- 
cular branches  and  roses  to  a  pyra- 
midal border  that  surrounds  the  bot- 
tom of  the  skirt.  Tucker,  of  a  double 
row  of  fine  tulle:  a  small  bouquet  on 
the  right  side  of  the  bust.  The 
hair  a  la  Madonne  in  front,  with 
plaited  bands  round  the  head,  and  a 
bow  at  the  back;  demi-wreath  of 
Persian  roses  behind.  Ear-rings, 
necklace,  and  bracelets  of  dead  gold. 
White  kid  gloves,  trimmed  a  la  Fran- 
false.  Transparent  painted  horn  fan. 
White  satin  shoes. 


GENERAL  OBSERVATIONS  ON  FASHION 
AND   DRESS. 

Wadded  silk  pelisses  of  dark  co- 
lours begin  to  be  very  much  in  re- 
quest in  promenade  dress  ;  and  gros 

S  s 


sm 


GENERAL   OBSERVATIONS   ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


de  Naples,  poplin,  and  levantine  high 
dresses,  which  are  worn  with  bonne 
de  sole  shawls,  have  displaced  white 
gowns  and  silk  spencers.  We  still, 
however,  see  a  lew  white  dresses, 
but  they  are  worn  either  with  rich 
winter  shawls  or  velvet  spencers. 
Furs  are  expected  to  be  very  gene- 
ral; and  we  have  already  seen  a  few 
pelisses  trimmed  with  ermine,  sable, 
and  grey  squirrel :  this  last  article  it 
is  thought  will  be  very  much  in  fa- 
shion this  winter. 

The  present  month  is  not  one  in 
which  we  can  expect  much  novelty: 
a  pelisse,  however,  has  been  submit- 
ted to  our  inspection,  which  we  con- 
sider extremely  appropriate  for  walk- 
ing costume.  It  is  a  very  rich  reps 
silk,  of  a  sea-green  colour,  lined  with 
crimson:  the  back  of  the  corsage  has 
a  little  fulness,  which  is  confined  at 
the  bottom  by  a  twisted  band;  an  or- 
nament in  hard  silk  of  the  shape  of 
a  bell  is  attached  to  each  hip.  Tight 
long  sleeve,  terminated  by  a  fulness 
of  satin,  confined  by  narrow  velvet 
bands  placed  lengthwise,  but  in  a 
bias  direction.  The  trimming  of 
the  pelisse,  which  goes  all  round,  is 
of  the  same  description,  but  much 
deeper,  and  the  collar  and  epaulettes 
correspond.  We  must  observe,  that 
the  satin  is  a  shade  lighter,  and  the 
velvet  a  shade  darker,  than  the  pe- 
lisse, which  fastens  in  front  by  means 
of  hooks  and  eyes  concealed  under- 
neath. 

Black  bonnets  begin  to  appear, 
but  they  are  not  yet  very  general. 
Those  in  rose-coloured  satin  or  gros 
de  Naples  are  very  fashionable ;  and 
we  still  see  a  good  many  Leghorn 
bonnets.  These  last  areadorned with 
feathers  or  winter  flowers;  but  those 
of  silk  have  feathers  only,  which  al- 
ways correspond.     Bonnets  continue 


of  the  same  size,  and  we  do  not  per- 
ceive any  alteration  in  the  shape. 
The  brims  are  simply  ornamented 
with  a  narrow  cord  of  satin,  and  the 
lining  always  corresponds. 

Black  satin  mantles  lined  and  wad- 
ded are  very  much  worn  in  carriage 
costume,  as  are  also  silk  wrapping 
pelisses  trimmed  with  fur:  these  are 
made  with  loose  bodies  and  large 
capes;  they  have  very  seldom  any 
other  trimming  than  a  band  quilted 
in  lozenges  round  the  border;  they 
are  confined  to  the  waist  by  a  band 
of  watered  ribbon,  which  is  fastened 
by  a  gold  or  steel  buckle. 

Though  it  is  still  so  early  in  the 
season,  black  velvet  hats  begin  to  be 
seen  in  carnage  dress.  They  are  very 
much  in  the  Mary  Stuart  style,  or- 
namented with  full  plumes  of  down 
feathers,  which  are  generally  rose 
colour,  ponceau,  or  deep  blue  tipped 
with  black.  Many  ladies  adopt  as 
an  undress  bonnet  the  French  capote, 
which  is  usually  made  of  silk  to  corre- 
spond with  the  mantle  or  pelisse,  un- 
less the  latter  happens  to  be  black. 
The  drawings  of  these  capotes  are 
placed  as  near  as  possible  to  each 
other:  they  are  finished  at  the  edge 
of  the  brim  by  a  full  rucJte  to  corre- 
spond, and  are  tied  under  the  chin 
by  a  very  broad  rich  ribbon;  they 
have  no  other  trimming. 

No  decided  alteration  has  taken 
place  as  yet  in  morning  dress:  we 
have  seen  indeed  a  good  many  high 
dresses  both  in  sarsnet  and  poplin, 
but  muslin  is  still  most  in  favour. 
The  cauls  of  morning  caps  are  now 
made  somewhat  higher  than  they 
were  two  months  ago.  Cornettes 
are  exclusively  confined  to  morning- 
dress,  and  we  see  demi-cornettcs  some- 
times even  in  it. 

Muslin  is  very  little  seen  in  dinner 


FRKNCH    FEMALE    FASHIONS. 


507 


dress,  silk  cachemire  and  bareges 
being  the  materials  most  in  favour. 
Blond  is  a  good  deal  used  to  trim 
silk  dresses:  those  of  bareges  and 
cachemire  are  usually  trimmed  with 
the  material  of  the  gown  intermixed 
with  satin. 

Coloured  gauze  and  tulle  over  white 
satin  slips  are  much  worn  in  full  dress. 
These  materials  are  also  sometimes 
adopted  with  a  slip  of  the  same  co- 
lour. Floss  silk  and  chenille  mixed 
with  satin  are  in  great  favour  for 
trimmings;  as  is  also  embroidery  of 
small  pearl  beads  mixed  with  satin. 
The  skirts  of  dresses  are  somewhat 


wider  than  they  were,  and  the  hind 
breadths  longer,  but  not  yet  so  long 
as  to  form  any  kind  of  train ;  though 
it  is  confidently  said,  that  some  very 
distinguished  fashionables  intend  to 
revive  train  dresses  this  winter.  Trim- 
mings are  in  general  deep.  The 
ceinture  is  always  of  satin,  and  even 
where  it  ends  in  a  bow  behind,  an 
ornamental  buckle  is  fixed  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  knot. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  rose  co- 
lour, turquoise-blue,  lavender,  crim- 
son, emerald  -  green,  brun  -  solitaire, 
fumte  de  Londres,  and  jiamme  de 
ponchc. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  Oct.  18. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

Our  fair  fashionables  have 
vied  with  each  other  during  some 
time  past  in  the  elegance  with  which 
they  dressed  to  attend  the  different 
morning  exhibitions,  as  it  is  in  these 
places  that  one  sees  whatever  is  con- 
sidered most  elegant  and  fashionable 
in  half-dress.  I  shall  devote  this  let- 
ter principally  to  giving  you  an  ac- 
count of  the  dresses  that  I  consider- 
ed most  striking. 

I  have  first  to  observe  to  you  that 
waists  continue  as  long  as  ever;  that 
at  least  nine-tenths  of  the  corsages 
are  made  en  blouse ;  and  trimmings 
are  of  three  different  sorts,  ruches, 
flounces,  and  bands  appliquees.  Trim- 
mings in  ruches  are  either  disposed 
in  three  rows  placed  at  some  distance 
from  the  other,  and  each  progres- 
sively smaller,  or  else  they  are  ar- 
ranged in  wolves'  teeth.  Flounces 
are  disposed  in  three  rows  of  three 
and  three  together,  or  in  waves.  I 
have  remarked  that  the  trimming  in 
ruches  is  seldom  deeper  than  a  quar- 


ter of  a  yard ;  that  in  flounces  is 
much  higher,  and  the  bands  appli- 
quees come  nearly  to  the  knee^, 

So  much  for  general  observation: 
let  me  now  describe  to  you  some 
dresses  whose  peculiar  novelty  ren- 
ders them  still  more  worthy  of  no- 
tice ;  and,  first,  a  gown  of  violet-co- 
loured gros  de  Naples,  the  trimming 
of  which  consisted  of  bouquets  of 
tulips  and  daisies  laid  on  in  satin: 
the  leaves  of  the  flowers  were  raised 
with  wadding.  The  corsage  of  this 
dress  was  draped  before  and  behind 
in  the  demi-lozenge  style;  the  fulness 
being  confined  by  a  flower  on  each 
shoulder,  and  in  the  centre  of  the 
back  and  breast.  Short  full  sleeve; 
the  fulness  drawn  to  the  middle  of 
the  arm,  where  it  is  confined  by  a 
small  bouquet. 

Another  dress,  made  of  rose-co- 
loured bareges,  and  trimmed  with 
lilac  satin,  was  ornamented  by  branch- 
es of  yew  separated  by  stars. 

A  third,  the  wearer  of  which  is 
one  of  our  most  celebrated  merveil- 
leuses,  was  of  white  bareges  trimmed 
S  s  2 


303 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITERARY,    SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


with  a  mixture  of  ponceau  and  yellow 
satin  in  the  form  of  serpents,  which 
confined  a  full  roll  of  white  bareges. 
The  bust  of  this  dress  was  ornament- 
ed in  the  stomacher  style  with  alter- 
nate folds  of  yellow  and  ponceau 
satin. 

Those  ladies  who  affect  an  elegant 
dishabille  appear  in  rtdingotes  either 
of  perk  ale  or  clear  muslin :  the  first 
of  these  are  ornamented  with  clear 
muslin  rouleaus,  three  of  which  go 
round  the  bottom  and  up  each  front : 
the  rtdingote  is  tied  up  the  front  by 
bows  of  clear  muslin,  the  ends  of 
which  are  embroidered  or  trimmed 
with  lace.  If  the  dress  is  of  clear 
muslin,  it  is  richly  embroidered  round 
the  border,  and  lined  with  white 
taffetas. 

Late  as  it  is  in  the  season,  we  see 
very  few  cachemires  except  in  the 
promenades;  but  for  the  exhibitions 
a  lace  scarf  or  shawl,  or  one  in  ba- 
reges, finished  at  the  end  by  gold  or 
silver  stripes,  is  usually  worn. 

The  bonnets  for  these  exhibitions 
are  of  crape,  gauze,  satin,  and  Leg- 
horn. There  is  at  present  a  rage 
for  such  of  these  last-mentioned  hats 
as  are  of  an  extravagant  price.  The 
favourite  form  is  the  chapcau  a  la 
bergere.  The  crowns  of  silk  bonnets 
are  somewhat  higher ;  but  the  brims 
still  continue  small,  and  generally 
very  wide  over  the  face.  Panaches 
of  uncurled  ostrich  feathers  of  two 
colours  are  much  in  favour,  as  are 
also  very  full  plumes  of  down  feathers, 
and  a  variety  of  flowers :   among  the 


most  fashionable  of  the  latter  are, 
roses,  mignonette,  daisies,  violets, 
pensees,  the  different  sorts  of  corn- 
flowers, and  the  red  rose  of  America. 

The  materials  for  evening  dress 
still  continue  extremely  light:  tulle, 
gauze,  and  crepe  lisse  are  all  fashion- 
able; but  dresses  of  English  net, 
embroidered  a colonnes,  are  still  more 
in  favour.  Gowns  are  cut  extremely 
low  in  evening  dress,  but  the  neck 
is  generally  shaded  by  a  lace  scarf  or 
sautoir.  Where  the  robe  is  not  made 
en  blouse,  the  sleeves  are  very  short. 

Turbans  are  now  very  fashionable 
in  full  dress ;  they  are  composed  of 
India  muslin  or  crepe  lisse,  and  are 
fancifully  ornamented  with  flowers, 
which  are  partially  seen  between  the 
folds  of  the  turban. 

Cornelian  begins  to  be  very  much 
used  in  jewellery;  coloured  stones 
are  also  greatly  in  favour,  particular- 
ly turquoises:  the  most  fashionable 
necklaces  are  composed  of  this  last 
gem,  with  a  mixture  of  or-mat.  Ear- 
rings of  or-mat,  in  the  form  of  a  ser- 
pent holding  an  orange  in  his  mouth, 
are  very  fashionable.  One  of  the 
most  beautiful  ornaments  for  the  hair 
is  a  wreath  of  laurel-leaves  mixed 
with  lilies ;  the  latter  of  pearls,  the 
former  of  emeralds. 

The  colours  now  most  in  favour 
are,  turquoise-blue,  bright  ruby,  deep 
rose,  violet,  lilac,  ponceau,  and  aca- 
jou. Farewell,  ma  chcre  Sophie! 
Always  your 

Eudocia. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 


Early  in  November  will  be  published 
The  Forget  Me  Not  for  I  824,  containing 
twelve  highly  finished  engravings,  and  a 
great  variety  of  miscellaneous  pieces  in 


prose  and  verse ;  forming  altogether  a 
very  elegant  and  acceptable  token  of  re- 
membrance and  friendship  for  die  ap- 
proaching festive  season. 


INTELLIGENCE,   LITERAltY,  SCIENTIFIC,   &C. 


309 


In  a  few  days  will  be  published,  in  an 
8vo.  volume,  An  Introdvction  to  the  Stu- 
dy of  the  Anatomy  of  the  Human  Body, 
particularly  designed  for  the  use  of  paint- 
ers, sculptors,  and  artists  in  general; 
translated  from  the  German  of  J.  H.  La- 
vater,  and  illustrated  with  twenty-seven 
lithographic  plates. 

On  the  1st  December  will  be  pub- 
lished, the  first  number  of  Portraits  of 
the  Passions,  a  series  of  heads,  shewing 
the  physiognomical  expression  of  all  the 
principal  passions  which  affect  the  human 
mind.  The  work  will  consist  of  from 
twelve  to  fourteen  monthly  numbers, 
each  containing  four  lithographic  plates, 
designed  and  drawn  on  stone  by  eminent 
artists.  These  heads  will  form  an  ex- 
cellent illustration  of  so  much  of  the  fore- 
going work  as  relates  to  the  passions. 

Letters  between  Amelia  and  her  Mother, 
from  the  pen  of  the  late  William  Combe, 
Esq.  the  author  of  "  The  Tours  of  Dr. 
Syntax,"  will  speedily  appear,  in  one 
pocket  volume. 

A  new  division  of  the  World  in  Minia- 
ture, containing  the  Netherlands,  will  be 
pulished  on  the  1st  December,  in  one  vo- 
lume, with  eighteen  coloured  engravings. 

The  New  Trial  of  the  Witnesses,  or  the 
Resurrection  of  Jesus  considered,  on  prin- 
ciples understood  and  acknowledged 
equally  by  Jews  and  Christians,  will  be 
published  in  the  beginning  of  November. 

In  the  press,  Italian  Tales;  tales  of 
humour,  gallantry,  and  romance ;  in  one 
volume,  small  8vo.  embellished  with  a 
series  of  drawings  from  the  pencil  of  Mr. 
George  Cruikshank.. 

The  Albigenses,  a  romance  by  the  Rev. 
C.  R.  Maturin,  author  of  "  Bertram,"  a 
tragedy,  &c.  will  be  published  in  Novem- 
ber. 

A  new  edition  will  shortly  be  published, 
of  An  Account  of  the  Life  and  Writings 
of  James  Bcattie,  LL.  D.  by  Sir  William 
Forbes,  Bart,  in  two  vols.  8vo.  with  por- 
trait. 

A  new  work  from  the  pen  of  Miss 
Porter,  entitled  Duke  Christian  of  Liinc- 


burg,  or  Traditions  of  the  Harz,  will  short- 
ly appear  in  three  12mo.  volumes. 

Mr.  Bernard  Cohen  is  preparing  for 
publication,  Memoirs  of  the  late  Pope 
Pius  VII.  including  the  whole  of  his  pri- 
vate correspondence  with  the  Emperor 
Napoleon,  taken  from  the  archives  of  the 
Vatican,  with  many  other  interesting  par- 
ticulars of  his  eventful  reign. 

Miss  Louisa  Prinsep  has  issued  propo- 
sals for  publishing  by  subscription,  in  two 
vols.  8vo.  a  prose  translation  of  Tasso's 
Jerusalem  Delivered. 

The  Rev.  Thomas  Pennington  has  in 
the  press,  Former  Scenes  Renewed,  or 
Notes  Classical  and  Historical,  taken  in  a 
Journey  into  France,  Spain,  Italy,  Switz- 
erland, Germany,  Flanders,  and  Hol- 
land, and  Residence  in  those  Countries  in 
the  years  1818-1821;  interspersed  with 
Historical  Anecdotes,  and  Memoirs  of 
the  Seven  Grand- Dukes  of  the  House  of 
Medici,  and  of  the  different  Dynasties  of 
Naples  and  Milan. 

Lady  Morgan's  Memoirs  of  Salvator 
Rosa  will  appear  early  in  November. 

An  historical  novel,  illustrative  of  a 
most  interesting  period  of  Scottish  his- 
tory, being  founded  on  the  Gowrie  con- 
spiracy, in  the  reign  of  James  VI.  will 
shortly  issue  from  the  Edinburgh  press. 
It  is  by  a  new  "  Unknown,"  and  bears 
for  title  St.  Johnstown,  or  John  Earl  of 
Gowrie. 

A  new  poem  from  the  pen  of  Mr. 
Atherstonc,  author  of  "  The  Last  Days 
of  Herculaneum,"  entitled  A  Midsum- 
mer-Day's Dream,  will  shortly  appear. 

Mr.  Gamble,  author  of  "  Sketches  in 
Ireland"  and  other  works,  has  in  the 
press,  Charlton,  or  Scenes  in  the  North 
of  Ireland. 

Montalyth,  a  Cumberland  tale,  by 
Miss  Jane  Hervey,  author  of  "  Sensibi- 
lity," &c.  is  nearly  ready  for  publication. 

Dr.  Henderson's  History  of  Ancient 
and  Modern  Wines  will  speedily  appear, 
in  an  elegant  4to.  volume,  with  decorative 
wood-cuts. 

A  work  entitled  Fatal  Errors  and  Fun- 


.310 


POETRY. 


dumental  Truths,  in  a  series  of  Narra- 
tives and  Essays,  is  in  the  press. 

In  the  month  of  November  will  be  pub- 
lished Time's  Telescope  for  IS'24,  or  the 
Astronomer's,  Botanist's,  Naturalist's, 
and  Historian's  Guide  for  the  Year,  form- 
ing also  a  complete  illustration  of  the 
Almanack;  to  which  will  be  prefixed  an 
Introduction,  containing  the  Outlines  of 
Historical  and  Physical  Geography,  and 
an  Ode  to  Flowers,  written  expressly  for 
this  work  by  Bernard  Barton. 

Mr.  Charles  Wcstmacott  is  about  to 
publish  a  humorous  work,  entitled 
Points  <>f  IMisery,  with  illustrations  by 
Cruikshank  ;  the  subjects  affording  fine 
scope  for  the  talents  of  that  ingenious 
artist. 

In  many  gardens  the  caterpillar  makes 
terrible  ravages  among  the  gooseberry 
bushes.  A  respectable  farmer  mentions 
a  very  simple,  but,  as  he  has  found,  a 


very  effectual  method  of  destroying  these 
insects.  "  When  the  bush  has  only  one 
stalk,"  says  he,  "  I  can  manage  them  fa- 
mously, but  when  it  divides  into  a  num- 
ber of  branches,  with  leaves  to  the  very 
ground,  the  enemy  burrows  in  the  inside, 
and  can  scarcely  be  dislodged  by  any 
means.  In  the  first  place,  I  rise  betimes, 
and  spreading  a  good  lock  of  tar  round  the 
bottom  of  the  bush,  give  it  two  or  three 
hearty  shakes,  caring  very  little  though  the 
small  and  cankered  berries  should  fall 
among  the  vermin  The  first  shake  is  by  far 
the  best,  for,  like  the  limpet  on  the  rock, 
the  caterpillar  has  the  art  of  keeping  a  firm 
hold  when  fairly  warned.  The  smell  of 
the  tar  soon  makes  the  worm  shy  of  creep- 
ing up  again,  and  when  spread  over  a 
whole  plot,  prevents  them  from  shifting 
from  a  bush  bare  and  riddled  to  one  bet- 
ter covered  with  leaves." 


oetrp. 


LOVE: 

From  Ihc  German  of  Deinhardstein. 

Ruby  lips  and  roses  smiling, 
All  my  anxious  cares  beguiling; 
Softly  pouting,  love  inviting, 
Sweetly  blooming,  joy  exciting; 
How  enchanting  to  the  sense 
Are  the  charms  that  you  dispense  ! 

Azure  eyes,  with  lustre  beaming; 

Brilliant  stars,  through  darkness  gleaming; 

All  my  wishes  fond  imparting, 

As  your  glowing  beams  are  darting — 
How  delightful  to  the  sight 
Fair  messengers  of  pleasure  bright ! 

Rosy  blushes  in  the  morning 
Mark  Aurora's  beauteous  dawning; 
Through  the  mists  of  evening  stealing, 
Hesper,  his  mild  rays  revealing, 

Gilds  with  hope  the  lover's  heart — 

But,  ah!  too  soon  his  joys  depart! 

Ipswich,  July  1823.  L.  J. 


STANZAS. 

Oh  !   think  not  Fame's  or  Fortune's'ray 
Shall  tempt  me,  love,  from  thee  to  wander, 

Or  all  the  world  deems  great  or  gay 

Has  power  to  lure  my  fond  heart  yondejr ! 


The  (lower  that  turns  to  meet  the  sun, 
And  bends  its  gentle  head  before  it, 

Bows  not  to  any  other  one, 

Though  countless  worlds  are  shining  o'er  it. 
Hy.  Neelk. 

LINES  ON  AN  AUTUMNAL  EVENING. 
Autumn,  thy  sober  beauties  yet  I  love, 
And  as  I  walk  and  muse  I  love  to  hear 
Thy  chilling  blast  sweep  through  the  faded 

grove, 
Scattering  the  yellow  foliage;  to  my  car 
The  passing  bell  sounds  sweet,  its  solemn 

toll 
Seems  a  soft  requiem  to  departed  joy. 
This  world  no  longer  charms;  my  wearied  soul 
Pants  for  repose,  which  vice  cannot  destroy. 
Autumn,  tliy  faded  honours  now 
Present  an  emblem  of  my  woe  ; 
And  oft,  with  tearful  eye,  in  other  days 
I  lived  to  contemplate  thy  sky  serene  ; 
To  watch  thy  setting  sun,  where  parting  rays 
Crimson 'U  the  vast  horizon  :  these  have  been 
My  heart's  best  pleasures.    Friendship's  ties, 
And  all  the  social  harmonies  I  knew, 
Fond  memory  recalls  with  frequent  sighs — 
The  blessings  which  in  retrospect  I  view. 
Autumn,  thy  glowing  tints  are  flown — 
I  hail  thy  gloomier  prospect  as  my  own. 

Vale  it  ia. 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  373,  Strand. 


THE 


Bepofittorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures^  fyc. 


THE 


EHIES. 


Vol.  II. 


December  1,  1823. 


N°XII. 


EMBELLISHMENTS.  page 

1.  Frontispiece  to  the  Second  Vol. 

2.  View  of    Dropmoue-House,    the    Seat  of  Lord  Grenville,    North 

Front 311 

3.  ■ South  Front  .         .         .         .         .312 

4.  View  of  Beaumont  Lodge,  the  Seat  of  Viscount  Ashbrook  .  314 

5.  Ladies'  Full  Dress     ..........  364 

(].  Evening  Dress        .........  365 

7.  Specimen  of  the  Portraits  of  the  Passions     .....  368 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES. 

Vikws  of  Country  Seats. — Dropmore- 
House,  the  Seat  of  Lord  6rf.nvii.le  .  Oil 

Beaumont- Lodge,  the  Seat  of  Viscount 
Ashbrook 014 

Letters  from  Reginald  Filterbrain  of  the 
Inner  Temple,  Esq.      Letter  VI.     .     .  315 

Letter  from  the  Reporter  of  the  Debates 
in  the  French  Female  Parliament  .     .  317 

Adorgama  and  Olliena 319 

Gaelic  Relics.  No.  VIII.  The  Fairies' 
Ball 321 

Historical  and  Descriptive  Particulars 
respecting  the  Town  of  Angers  and  its 
Environs 322 

The  Garden :    A  Rhapsody 327 

Trifles •     ....  329 

Oriental  Fidelity  and  Love        ....  332 

On  Shandean  Prepossessions  in  Favour 
of  certain  Baptismal  Names  ....  333 

Royal  and  Loyal  Holiday  Entertainment  337 

On  External  Indications  of  Character     .  338 

The  Infant  Shepherd  and  Poet,  from  the 
French  of  Florian 312 

The  Confessions  of  a  Rambler     No.  IV.     ib. 

Ghost  Stories.  No.  III. — The  Ghost  of 
St.  Germain 347 

Of  the  Courts  of  Love  in  the  Ages  of  Chi- 
valry         350 

Original  Letters  from  the  late  Count 
Volney 356 

Anecdotes,  &c.  Historical,  Literary, 
and  Peiisoval  — Thomas  a  Becket — 
Royal  Knight-Errantry — Pyramids     .  358 


359 

360 

ib. 
361 

ib. 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 

Kitchiner's  Sea-Songs  of  Charles  Dibdin 
Latour's  Airs  in  Rossini's  Opera  of  Rie- 

ciardo  e  Zoraide 

Kalkbrenner's    Impromtu   on   the   Irish 

Air,  "The  Bard's  Request"  .  .  .  . 
Les  belles  Fleurs.  Nos  I  and  II.  .  . 
Cramer's    Rode's    celebrated    Air    sung 

by  Madame  Catalani  ..;... 
Arrangement  of  a  Romance  by 

Bishop 

Rawlinos'  Divertisement 

Kiallmark's  "  Yes,  thou  art  gone  !" 
Rossini's  "  Adieu,  adieu,  my  love"    . 
Poole's  "  We're  a  noddin"       .... 
Rimbault's    Select    French    Romances. 

No.  VII 

Hughes'  •'  County  Guy" 

Gutter idce's  "  Thou   rob'st  my  days  of 

business  and  delight"        

FASHIONS. 


London  Fashions. —  Ladies' Full  Dress    .  364 

Ladies'  Evening  Dress 365 

General   Observations   on   Fashion   and 

Dress ib. 

....  366 


362 
ib. 

363 
ib. 
ib. 


364 


French  Female  Fashions        .     .     . 

INTELLIGENCE, 

LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC        .     .  367 

Portraits  of  the  Passions 368 

Index 369 


LONDON : 

PRINTED  FOR,  AND  PUBLISHED  BY,    R.  ACKERMANN,   101,  STRAND; 
To  whom  Communications  (post-paid)  are  requested,  t»  be  addressed. 

L.  Harrison,  Printer,  373,  Strand. 


TO  READERS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

At  the  conclusion  of  a  new  stride  of  our  periodical  labours,  ivc  cannot  forbear 
adverting  to  t/te  signal  success  which  has  attended  our  endeavours  for  the  improvement 
of  the  New  Series  of  the  Repository,  the  increased  circulation  of  which  requires 
the  expression  of  our  sincere  acknoivledgmtttts,  not  only  to  those  subscribers  with 
whose  support  we  have  but  recently  been  honoured,  but  to  the  old  friends,  to  whose  pa- 
tronage and  encouragement  we  have  been  long  indebted.  It  is  particularly  gratifying 
to  knoiu,  that  one  of  these  features  of  improvement  has  obtained  universal  approbation  : 
we  allude  to  the  introduction  of  Views  of  the  Country-Seats  of  our  Nobility  and 
Gentry,  which  in  time  will  form  a  highly  interesting  collection,  as  they  are  all  en- 
graved from  drawings  taken  on  the  spot,  at  a  considerable  expense,  expressly  for  our 
Publication.  We  avail  ourselves  of  this  occasion  to  express  our  obligations  for  the 
facility  of  access,  information,  and  assistance,  afforded  by  the  owners  of  many  of 
these  mansions  to  our  artist  in  the  prosecution  of  his  task;  and  venture  to  bespeak  the 
like  favour  of  those  whose  Seats  will  be  represented  in  our  future  Numbers. 

To  a  Constant  Reader,  who  is  indignant  at  an  opinion  expressed  in  the  pa- 
per of  a  correspondent  inserted  in  our  last  Number,  we  can  only  intimate,  that  the  sume 
channel  is  open  for  the  refutation  of  that  opinion,  as  for  its  publication. 

Another  Constant  Reader  would  esteem  it  a  great  favour  if  any  of  our  Cor- 
respondents can  injorm  him,  "  Where  and  ill  what  year  Thomas  Tompion,  the  cele- 
brated watchmaker,  was  born." 

If  this  should  meet  the  eye  of  the  Lady  who  transmitted  from  Preston 
two  articles  to  Mr.  Ackeumann  for  the  FORGET  ME  NOT,  she  is 
requested  to  favour  him  with  the  address  to  which  a  packet  for  her  may 
be  sent,  as  the  letter  containing  it  has  been  unluckily  mislaid. 


No. 
VII. 


VIII. 


IX. 


Directions  to  the  Binder  for  placing  the  Plates  in  the 
SECOND  VOLUME,  THIRD  SERIES. 


1.  Frontispiece 


Pace 
to  face  the  Title 


2.  View  of  Tabley-House      .     .       1 

3.  Scene  in  Tabley-Pavk  ...       2 

4.  Ladies'  Morning  Dress       .     .     56 

5.  13a.ll  Dress    ....     ib. 

6.  Fashionable  Cbairs  ....    59 

7.  Muslin  Patterns. 

8.  View  of  Ditton  Park     ...     63 
9. Holly-Grove-House      64 

10. the    Pavilion,   Font- 
hill  Abbey 103 

11.  National  Polonaise,  by  T.  W. 

P.  Oginsky 113 

12.  Ladies' Evening  Dress       .     .   120 

13.  Ball  Dress     ....   121 

14.  View  ofTatton-Hall,  Cheshire  125 
15. Bury  Hill,  Surrey    .   126 

16.  Ladies'  Morning-  Dress       .    .    184 

17.  Evening  Dress      .     .     ib. 

18.  State-Bed 185 

19.  Muslin  Patterns. 


No. 
X. 


XI. 


XII. 


Pace 
20.  View    of    Eaton -Hall,    Che- 
shire, West  Front      .     .     .   187 
21. East  Front  .     .     .     .   190 

22.  Temple  at  Eaton 191 

23.  Ladies'  Morning  Dress      .     .  243 

24.  Ball  Dress    .     .     .     .     ib. 

25.  Muslin  Patterns. 

26.  View  of  Sophia-Lodge      .     .  249 

27.  ■-  the  Conservatory, 
Sophia  Lodge 250 

28. Woodside     ....  251 

29.  Ladies'  Head-Dresses  .      .     .  305 

30.  Full  Dress    .     .  "  .     .     ib. 

31.  Muslin  Patterns. 

32.  View   of    Dropmore  -  House, 

North  Front 311 

33.  —  South  Front 312 

34.  Beaumont  Lodge       ....  314 

35.  Ladies'  Full  Dress    ....   364 

36.  Evening  Dress       .     .  365 

37.  Specimen  of  the  Portraits  of 

the  Passions 368 


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THE 


a&epoettorp 


OF 


ARTS,   LITERATURE,    FASHIONS, 

Manufactures,  fyc. 


the 


IRD     SERIES. 


Vol.  II. 


December  1,  1823. 


N°-  XII. 


VIEWS  OF  COUNTRY-SEATS. 

DKOPMOUK-HOUSE,   THE    SEAT   OF    LOUD   GllENVILLE. 


This  noble  residence  is  situated 
in  the  parish  of  Hitcham,  ahout  three 
miles  from  Maidenhead,  in  Berk- 
shire. In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 
the  manor  was  the  property  of  Lord 
Chief  Justice  Baldwin,  from  whom 
it  descended  to  his  grand-daughter, 
who  conveyed  it  in  marriage  to  Sir 
Wm.  Clerke.  It  was  purchased  by 
Lord  Grenville  of  the  family  of 
Freind,  descended  from  the  eminent 
scholar  and  celebrated  physician,  Dr. 
John  Freind.  The  mansion  was  built 
by  the  present  noble  owner,  and  is 
an  elegant  structure,  combining  sim- 
plicity with  richness.  The  North 
Front,  as  represented  in  the  annexed 
engraving,  is  pleasing,  from  the  de- 
lightful and  harmonious  play  of  lines;; 
it  is  varied  without  being  cut  up,  and 
from  the  boldness  of  the  projections 
a  fine  relief  is  obtained,  which  bears 

Vol.  If.  \To.  XII. 


out  a  beautiful  portico  that  graces  the 
centre.  A  raised  terrace  of  stone  is 
continued  from  the  portico  on  this 
side,  which  forms  a  pleasing  walk  to 
the  South  Front,  decorated  as  it  is 
with  vases  that  contain  flowering- 
shrubs.  The  flight  of  steps  on  this 
side  leads  to  the  Hall  of  Entrance, 
which  is  a  fine  room,  and  contains, 
between  scagliola  columns  of  hand- 
some proportions,  some  beautiful 
busts,  chiefly  by  Nollekin.  Among 
others,  are  those  of  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  the  Earl  of  Chatham,  the 
Right  Hon.  William  Pitt,  the  Mar- 
quis of  Buckingham,  the  Right  Hon. 
William  Wyndh am,  Lord  Grenville, 
the  Right  Hon.  George  Grenville 
(prime  minister  in  1763,  and  the  ce- 
lebrated author  of  the  Grenville  Act), 
the  Hon.  Thomas  Grenville,  and  Ri- 
chard  Grenville.     Connected   with 

T    T 


r>\:2 


DROI'MOltE-IIOT.sr 


this  is  an  Anti-Room,  containing  some 
beautiful  cabinet  pictures  of  Claude, 
Roussin,  Canaletti,  as  well  as  some 
of  the  Dutch  masters.  Beyond  this 
room  on  the  one  side  is  a  fine  propor- 
tioned Dining  -  Room,  containing 
some  capital  portraits.  The  anti- 
room  communicates  as  well  with  the 
library  and  drawing-room,  a  very 
elegant  apartment,  containing  some 
superb  inlaid  and  richly  wrought 
pieces  of  furniture.  The  walls  are 
of  a  warm  tint  in  compartments,  de- 
corated with  scrolls  finished  in  gold, 
while  the  deep  cornice  forms  a  cone 
of  elegant  workmanship.  At  one 
end  of  this  room  is  Lady  Greriville's 
Reading-Room,  fitted  up  with  great 
taste,  and  nearly  similar  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, containing  a  collection  of 
books  of  the  choicest  authors.  At 
the  other  end  is  Lord  Grenville's 
Reading-Room,  which,  besides  a  va- 
luable collection  of  books,  contains  a 
capital  portrait  of  the  Right  Hon. 
William  Pitt,  by  Hoppner.  The 
house  is  situated  on  a  commanding 
spot,  and  to  the  south  has  most  ex- 
tensive views. 

Our  Second  View  represents  the 
South  Front,  along  which  is  a  pleas- 
ing verandah,  decorated  within  and 
without  by  a  variety  of  creeping- 
plants  ;  while  the  space  immediately 
in  front  is  gay  and  fragrant  with 
flowers,  formed  in  beds  and  growing 
from  vases  of  elegant  forms.  The 
north  front  includes  the  hall,  din- 
ing-room, and  domestic  offices,  by 
which  arrangement  it  is  always  cool 
and  comfortable.  The  south  front 
embraces  the  Drawing-Room,  which 
constitutes  as  well  an  elegant  library, 
as  has  been  noticed,  with  its  connect- 
ing reading  and  sitting  rooms ;  and  on 
a  level  with  the  lawn,  the  centre 
verandah   forms   by   its    breadth    a 


conservatory:  thus  affording  a  de- 
lightful dry  walk  in  the  wet  season, 
while  in  the  hue  it  throws  on  the 
rooms  an  agreeable  shade,  which 
renders  them  pleasing  at  all  hours 
for  reading  or  study.  This  blending 
of  Drawing-Room  and  Library  has 
been  justly  appreciated  by  an  elegant 
and  scientific  writer*,  who  observes, 
that  "  formerly  the  library  was  plac- 
ed in  any  retired  part  of  the  princi- 
pal floor,  or  in  some  nook,  and  as  far 
from  the  drawing-room  as  possible, 
as  if  wholly  unsuitable  to  female  oc- 
cupation, and  only  to  be  consulted 
by  the  grave  on  abstruse  points  of 
gloomy  study,  and  which  admitted 
no  feminine  participation.  All  this  is 
altered:  the  library  is  now  in  daily 
use ;  it  is  one  of  the  chief  apart- 
ments ;  it  is  a  room  of  morning  stu- 
dy, and  of  evening  reading  and  recre- 
ation: its  contents  have  been  aug- 
mented by  productions  in  the  fine 
arts  of  every  description,  and  would 
rather  seem  devoted  to  the  most  re- 
fined class  of  intellectual  attainments, 
than  to  monastic  seclusion,  which  for- 
merly seemed  to  '  possess  it  merely/  " 

In  a  line  with  this  front  are  the 
green-houses,  hot-houses,  and  other 
useful  elegancies  required  in  a  flow- 
er-garden of  such  ample  dimensions: 
the  arrangement  is  so  aptly  made, 
that  these  buildings  not  only  form  of 
themselves  embellishments  of  the 
first  class,  but  conduce  in  part  to 
screen  the  stables  and  out-houses, 
which  in  turn  are  rendered  subser- 
vient to  the  general  whole. 

Immediately  connected  with  this, 
and  stretching  along  the  command- 
ing brow  of  a  hill  to  the  south,  is 
the  whiter  walk,  formed  of  evergreens 
and  flowering  shrubs;  thus  carrying 

*  John  Buonarotti  Papworth  on  Or- 
namental Gardening. 


DKOI'MOKE-IlOUSn 


.313 


forward  the  polished  arrangement  of 
the  flower-garden  into  the  pleasure- 
grounds:  here  a  tent,  as  a  retreat 
from  sudden  showers,  constitutes  a 
resting  and  a  reading  place.  Hence 
the  aviary,  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
the  endless  variety  of  flowers  of  eve- 
ry hue  that  adorn  the  way,  the  rose, 
the  myrtle,  and  sweet  herbs  that  per- 
fume the  air,  with  charming  breaks 
of  the  sweetest  distances,  contribute 
in  the  highest  degree  to  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  mind.  From  this  walk 
and  from  the  front  of  the  mansion, 
the  ground  slopes  gracefully  into  the 
amphitheatre  of  .woods  beneath. 
Imagination  can  scarcely  picture  to 
itself  a  scene  so  sweet  and  so  en- 
chanting as  the  vast  and  beautiful 
vale  stretching  away,  a  sea  of  waving 
woods,  to  the  distant  blue  horizon, 
bearing  aloft  in  the  middle  distance, 
tinged  with  the  warm  grey  of  a  sum- 
mer's day,  the  noble  pile  of  Wind- 
sor's royal  palace  and  Eton's  classic 
fane.  As  viewed  from  a  circular 
Grecian  stone  seat  that  embellishes 
these  delicious  grounds,  the  home- 
scene  so  exquisitely  blends  with  the 
distance,  as  to  form  a  view  fit  only 
for  the  pencil  of  a  Claude  or  a  Tur- 
ner. All  breathes  mildness  and 
tranquillity,  an  air  of  loveliness  and 
content:  it  is  rich  in  the  extreme, 
without  wildness,  and  the  happy 
combination  indicates  the  finest  taste, 
accompanied  with  the  most  luxuriant 
imagination.  Few  would  conceive  thr 
place  to  have  been  a  mere  waste  be- 
fore the  noble  proprietor  purchased 
it,  when  a  small  cottage  only  stood 
on  the  site  of  the  present  beautiful 
residence,  where  dwell  ease  and 
gracefulness,  combining  gaiety  and 
luxuriance  with  uniformity  and  pro- 
priety.    It  is  but  justice  to  state  the 


whole  to  be  the  creation  of  Lord  and 
Lady  Grenvillc,  who  daily  take  de- 
light in  watching  over  and  carefully 
|  improving  the  woods  by  judicious 
thinning.  The  lodges  must  not  be 
forgotten;  for  the  same  taste  that 
pervades  the  mansion  and  grounds, 
is  displayed  in  the  approaches.  The 
principal  Entrance  -  Lodge  to  the 
north  is  a  fanciful  cottage,  of  consi- 
derable size,  that  strongly  reminds 
the  spectator  of  those  rich  old  Eng- 
lish cottages  that  we  now  see  only 
in  prints,  as  in  some  of  Cuitt's  rich- 
est portions  of  Chester.  It  is  form- 
ed after  the  best  specimens  of  old 
English  carved  oak  in  panels;  while 
the  windows,  particularly  the  porch, 
are  as  rich  in  carved  work  as  possi- 
ble, no  expense  being  spared  to  ob- 
tain fine  specimens  for  its  completion. 
When  finished,  for  it  is  we  under- 
stand to  have  a  carved  gallery  carried 
round  it,  this  lodge  will  be  a  perfect 
model,  which  we  should  denominate 
the  Swiss  Lodge. 

The  Lodge  to  the  south  is  equally 
pretty,  but  in  a  different  style,  being 
thatched,  with  luxuriant  plants  trail- 
ing over  its  surfaces:  in  form  it  is  as 
elegant  as  possible. 

Though  the  whole  of  the  domain 
is  private,  any  person  who  may  wish 
to  see  these  grounds  is  permitted  to 
range  where  fancy  guides.  The  art- 
ist avails  himself  of  this  opportunity 
to  return  his  grateful  acknowledg- 
ments to  the  noble  proprietors  of 
Dropmore,  for  the  very  polite  atten- 
tion he  there  experienced ;  as  well  as 
to  many  other  families  of  distinction, 
who  have  kindly  noticed  his  endea- 
vours to  do  justice  to  their  respective 
beautiful  seats  which  he  has  had  the 
honour  to  visit. 

T  t  2 


314 


BEAUMONT  LODGE, 

TIIK     SEAT     OF     VISCOUNT     ASIIHR00K. 


Tins  delightful  villa  is  situated  in 
Old  Windsor,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Thames,Berkshire,  and  is  the  proper- 
ty of  Henry  JefFery  Flower,  Viscount 
Ashbrook,  who  purchased  it  in  1806. 
The  original  house,  of  which  but  lit- 
tle remains,  was  built  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  last  century  by  Henry 
Frederick  Thynne,  Esq.  of  the  fami- 
ly of  the  present  Marquis  of  Bath. 
We  find  it  next  in  the  possession  of 
the  Duchess  of  Kent,  who  sold  it  to 
the  Duke  of  Roxburgh  in  1750,  when 
it  became  the  residence  of  his  son, 
the  Marquis  of  Beaumont;  since  which 
time  it  has  borne  the  name  of  Beau- 
mont Lodge,  though  it  has  succes- 
sively been  in  the  possession  of  his 
Royal  Highness  the  late  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  Thoma,  Watts,   Esq. 
Warren  Hastings,  Esq.  governor-ge- 
neral of  Bengal,  and  was  for  some 
time  the  residence  of  Earl  Mulgrave's 
father.     Warren  Hastings  sold  it  to 
Henry  Griffiths,  Esq.  to  whom  the 
mansion  owes  its  present  appearance; 
he  demolished  the  old  structure,  with 
the  exception  of  a  portion  of  the 
west  wing.     The  principal  front  is  of 
considerable  elevation ;  it  has  a  cor- 
ridor, which  consists  of  coupled  co- 
lumns, or  rather  columns  in  imitation 
of  twin  trees  growing  from  one  root ; 
the  shield  of  a  knight  is  introduced 
between  the  stems,  and  the  capitals 
are  formed  after  the  caps  worn  by  the 
knights  of  the  Garter;   the  star  of 
the  order  forms  a  centre,  the  whole 
furnished  with  Ionic  volutes  and  other 
emblematical  figures  of  the  arms  of 
England.     The  metopes   are  orna- 
mented by  the  George  and  collar; 
the  ornaments  of  the  frieze  over  the 
columns  are  composed  of  ostrich  fea- 
thers, tied  with  ribbons  and  blended 


with  acorns,  while  the  continued  frieze 
is  made  up  of  naval  and  military  tro- 
phies. The  columns  in  height  are 
36  feet  8  inches. 

Our  description  of  this  novelty  is 
particular,  it  being  intended  as  a  new 
order,  to  be  denominated  the  British 
Order.  It  is  well  known  that  the 
French  long  since  encouraged  the  at- 
tempt to  compose  a  new  order:  in  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIV,  a  reward  was  of- 
fered by  that  monarch  to  any  one  who 
should  form  a  new  order;  still  it  was 
not  effected,  and  we  must  leave  it  to 
the  world  to  judge  if  Mr.  Emlyn  has 
been  more  fortunate.  The  attempt 
is  praiseworthy,  but  the  purity  and 
the  splendour  of  our  existing  orders 
render  all  such  attempts  difficult,  if 
not  impossible. 

The  interior  of  this  mansion  is  ele- 
gant and  convenient.  Among  other 
pictures,  is  an  original  portrait  of 
Oliver  Cromwell,  brought  by  Lord 
Ashbrook  from  his  manor-house  at 
Hitcham.  The  views  from  the  front 
of  the  house  are  pleasing,  embracing 
the  Thames,  with  all  its  sinuosities 
and  well-wooded  banks.  The  grounds, 
though  limited,  are  varied  and  beau- 
tiful, from  their  sweeping  along  the 
side  of  a  hill,  from  the  brow  of  which 
the  views  are  very  fine ;  the  castle  of 
Windsor  coming  full  upon  the  view 
on  the  one  side,  while  a  rich  extent 
of  country  is  commanded  on  the  other, 
embracing  St.  Leonard's  Hill  with 
its  fine  woods,  crowned  by  the  man- 
sion of  Earl  Harcourt.  To  the  east, 
a  portion  of  London  may  be  distinct- 
ly seen  in  fine  weather.  Our  View 
is  taken  from  the  opposite  bank, 
shewing  the  full  extent  of  the  river, 
with  a  portion  of  its 
scenery. 


surrounding 


P  rt 


:   a 

1 

& 

55      *2, 

i 

\% 

%  y 

^ 

*  h 

315 

LETTERS  FROM  REGINALD  FILTERBRAIN 

Of  the  Inner  Temple,  Esq. 
Letter  VI. 

"  Come  in,  ami  let  us  banquet  royalty." 

First  Part— Henry  VI. 

You  wish  mc  to  write,  my  dear  friend,  and  you  ask 
What,  at  present,  I  find  not  the  most  easy  task. 
Ever  since  I  got  up,  I've  been  stretching  and  yawning, 
Having  not  gone  to  bed  till  the  daylight  was  dawning. 

You  must  know  yesterday  was  high  festival  here, 
'Twas  the  coming  of  age  of  our  host's  son  and  heir. 
On  an  ox  roasted  whole,  with  plum-pudding  and  ale, 
Did  the  tenants  and  poor  of  the  village  regale; 
While  we,  the  great  folks,  had  a  feast,  where  the  fare, 
Though  in  equal  abundance,  was  splendid  and  rare. 
I'll  not  dwell  on  each  dainty  we  had,  for  I'm  sure 
Tis  a  theme  you  detest,  and  I'm  no  epicure. 
The  wines  were  surpassing,  and,  oh !  such  a  blaze 
Of  beauty  you  never  beheld  in  your  days ! 

But  pass  we  the  dinner — the  dishes  were  clear'd, 
And  a  princely  dessert  on  the  table  appear'd  ; 
Then  follow'd  a  silence  so  dread  and  profound, 
You  might  hear  e'en  a  pin  had  it  dropt  to  the  ground  : 
'Twas  a  doubt  who  should  rise  and  pronounce  the  oration, 
Prefacing  a  toast  on  the  happy  occasion. 
I  soon  found,  from  all  eyes  being  tow'rds  me  directed, 
That  from  me,  as  one  "  bred  to  the  bar,"  'twas  expected. 
You  may  judge  how  in  utter  confusion  I  stared, 
For  a  task  so  appalling  by  no  means  prepared. 

Taking  courage  at  last,  from  the  nearest  decanter 
I  fill'd  up  a  bumper,  and  rising  instanter, 
Address'd  them  as  follows :  "  Come,  pledge  me  with  wine- 
Here's  a  health  to  our  friend!— fill  your  glasses  as  mine. 
May  each  hope  and  each  promise  which  ever  yet  thrill'd 
The  fond  heart  of  a  parent  in  him  be  fulfill' d ! 
May  time,  the  grand  test  of  our  hopes  and  our  fears, 
Shed  light  on  his  name  as  it  adds  to  his  years  ! 
May  the  welcome  from  Friendship's  and  Beauty's  bright  brow 
Ever  beam  on  his  path  as  they  circle  him  now  ! 
And  when  age  with  its  honours  comes  silently  on, 
And  throws  mellowness  over  the  days  that  are  gone, 
Oh!  then  while  reviewing  the  book  of  his  years, 
May  he  find,  though  some  pages  be  moisten'd  by  tears, 
There  are  yet  precious  leaves  on  which  memory  will  pore 
In  rapture  and  fondness  till  life's  latest  hour ! 
And,  oh  !  might  I  add  to  these  wishes  one  word, 
It  would  be,  may  the  parents  who  furnish'd  this  board 
See  their  son  when  the  ray  of  his  honour's  most  bright, 
And  long,  long  may  they  live  to  rejoice  in  its  light !" 


6  LETTERS    FROM    REGINALD   FILTERBRAIN,   ESQ. 

My  speech  would,  of  course,  be  applauded  by  all, 
Had  my  skull  been  as  thick  as  the  grand  China  wall. 
The  glass  circled  gaily,  although  our  potations 
Were  less  than  is  usual  on  such  grand  occasions. 
You'd  have  felt  for  your  friend,  for  'twas  not  very  long 
Ere  I  heard — "  Mr.  Filterbrain,  give  us  a  song  !" 
In  vain  were  entreaties  a  substitute  craving ; 
In  vain  I  declared  myself  hoarse  as  a  raven — - 
"  Needs  must"  I  soon  found,  and  so  clearing  my  throat, 
I  sung  thus,  though  of  music  scarce  knowing  a  note  : 

I've  found  the  world  of  wonders  full, 

Some  vex  and  some  surprise  one : 
I've  seen  a  thick  and  brainless  skull 

Pass  current  for  a  wise  one. 

I've  been,  like  other  folks,  by  slaves 

Of  various  sorts  surrounded  : 
Some  were  fools,  and  some  were  knaves, 

And  some  of  both  compounded. 

I've  seen  many  a  man,  for  lack  of  pelf, 

Wed  a  woman  as  old  as  his  mother ; 
And  many  a  widow  console  herself 

For  one  husband  by  taking  another. 

I  knew  a  priest,  when  he  quitted  the  desk, 
Against  grammar  and  rhetoric  sinning; 

He  meant  the  sublime,  but  produced  the  grotesque, 
And  set  all  his  parishioners  grinning. 

I  knew  two  foes — 'twas  a  deadly  feud — 

Lord,  how  they  abused  one  another ! 
When  all  of  a  sudden  their  rage  was  subdued, 

And  they  shook  hands  like  brother  and  brother. 

I  marvell'd  to  see  how  well  they  combin'd 
Their  soda;  curbonas  and  tartar  : 
I  look'd  out  at  the  window,  and  found  that  the  wind 
Had  chopp'd  round  to  a  different  quarter. 

Then  pour  me  forth  a  glass  of  wine — 

How  bright!  I  pray  you  view  it; 
'Tis  like— like  what? — this  purse  of  mine, 

For  I  see  the  sunbeam  through  it. 

The  fete  with  a  ball  and  grand  supper  concluded, 
Nor  thought  we  of  parting  till  daylight  intruded : 
But  'tis  time,  my  dear  friend,  I  was  snoozing  again — 
So  believe  me  most  truly  yours,  II.  Filtehbrain. 

W.  H.  II. 


317 


LETTER  FROM  THE  REPORTER  OF  THE  DEBATES  IN 
THE  FRENCH  FEMALE  PARLIAMENT. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 


A  fine  scrape  you  Lave  brought 
me  into!  Here  I  am  incarcerated, 
and  likely  to  be  guillotined,  for  ought 
I  know,  in  consequence  of  my  zeal  in 
your  service.  Ah  !  malkeureux  moi ! 
What  had  I  to  do  with  petticoat  po- 
litics? And  why  did  you  throw  temp- 
tation in  my  way  in  the  shape  of  a 
handsome  stipend  for  reporting  the 
proceedings  of  the  French  Female 
Parliament?  You  well  know  with 
what  reluctance  I  undertook  the  mis- 
sion, and  how  often  you  declared  to 
me  that  it  could  never  endanger  my 
neck.  Now,  sir,  mark  the  end  of  all 
your  specious  assurances !  Here  I  am 
in  limbo,  and  what  is  worse,  with  lit- 
tle prospect  of  getting  out  of  it,  as 
you  shall  hear. 

Finding  my  health  rather  impaired 
by  my  close  attendance  on  the  par- 
liament, I  determined  during  the  last 
recess  on  an  excursion  into  the  coun- 
try ;  and  accordingly  I  set  out  in  the 
diligence  for  Toulouse,  carrying  no- 
thing with  me  bait  a  few  shirts  and 
my  last  report,  which  I  had  taken  as 
usual  in  short-hand.  I  amused  my- 
self now  and  then  with  looking  it  over 
on  the  road ;  while  I  was  doing  so  I 
perceived  one  of  my  fellow-travellers, 
who,  by  the  bye,  had  very  much  the 
appearance  of  a  thief-taker,  eyeing 
me  very  suspiciously,  and  soon  after 
he  began  to  ask  me  some  rather  im- 
pertinent questions,  which  I  answer- 
ed shortly  enough.  I  had  soon  rea- 
son to  repent  of  my  abruptness ;  for 
a  few  minutes  after  I  had  taken  pos- 
session of  an  apartment  at  the  inn 
where  we  stopped,  this  man,  followed 
by  another  ill-looking  fellow,  entered 
my  room  without  ceremony,  and  sig- 


nifying to  me  that  they  were  agents 
of  the  police,  demanded  my  name 
and  occupation.  "  Occupation!"  re- 
plied I,  while  all  the  blood  of  the 
O'Scribes  rushed  into  my  face  at  his 
impertinence ;  "  I  am  a  gentleman." 
— "  Sans  doute"  cried  the  insolent 
rascal  in  a  tone  of  mockery,  and  glanc- 
ing at  the  same  time  at  my  coat,  which 
entre  nous  is  rather  rusty ;  "  but  you 
have,  however,  the  condescension  to 
make  yourself  useful  to  society  in 
some  capacity  or  other,  have  not  you  ?" 
— "  Yes,"  exclaimed  I,  warmed  by  a 
sense  of  my  own  literary  importance, 
"  yes,  truly,  I  am  the  greatest  bene- 
factor to  society  that  exists!" — "  As 
how?" — "  As  an  horn  me  de  lettres" 
repeated  I  triumphantly;  "  I  am  a 
man  of  great  science,  of  universal 

information,  and "  —  "  That's 

enough,"  cried  he,  interrupting  me 
and  turning  to  the  other:  "  yes,  yes, 
the  fellow  makes  precious  use  of  his 
information  no  doubt :  secure  his  pa- 
pers;" and  in  spite  of  all  my  remon- 
strances, to  it  they  fell.  Every  hole 
and  corner  of  my  apartment  was  rum- 
maged, the  closets  and  cupboards 
completely  gutted ;  they  even  exa- 
mined my  bed,  and  peeped  into  my 
boots,  which  I  had  just  taken  off; 
and,  finally,  one  of  them  informed  me, 
with  a  low  bow,  that  he  must  have 
the  honour  of  searching  my  person. 
By  the  beard  of  Apollo,  Mr.  Edi- 
tor, this  last  piece  of  politeness  was 
too  much  for  my  patience,  and  I  lent 
the  grinning  rascal  a  box  on  the  ear 
that  made  him  stagger:  but  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  a  number  of  gens 
(Formes  rushed  in ;  I  was  surrounded, 
stripped,  the  debates  taken  from  my 


318 


LETTER   FROM    THE    REF01lTF.lt    OF    DEBATES,    &C. 


pocket,  and  away  I  was  hurried  to  a 
place  that  had  very  much  the  appear- 
ance of  a  Bastille,  where  I  was  re- 
ceived by  a  gruff-looking  man,  with 
the  comfortable  declaration,  that  the 
only  way  to  save  my  neck  was  to  ac- 
knowledge immediately  all  the  par- 
ticulars of  the  plot  I  was  engaged 
in,  and  to  give  up  my  accomplices. 

"  Zounds  1"  cried  I,  "  you  are 
enough  to  drive  a  man  crazy  among 
you!  I  tell  you  I  have  no  plot  to  ac- 
knowledge; no  accomplices  to  give 
up.  I  am  here  in  a  literary  capacity. 
In  short,  since  the  truth  must  out, 
I  am  reporter  of  the  debates  in  the 
French  Female  Parliament." — "  The 
what?"  cried  he  staring  at  me. — ■ 
"  The  French  Female  Parliament," 
repeated  I  emphatically ;  "  that  illus- 
trious assembly,  whose  wise  and  pa- 
triotic measures,  detailed  in  the  most 
eloquent  language  by  my  classic  pen 


"  Poor  fellow  1"  interrupted  he  with 
a  look  of  commiseration;  and  turn- 
ing to  the  police  agent, "  here's  some 
mistake:  this  man  is  mad,  absolutely 
nan  compos.'' — "  No  such  thing,"  re- 
plied the  other,  "  he  is  no  more  mad 
than  I  am :  'tis  a  trick  to  evade  the 
law.  You  may  see  what  an  artful  trai- 
tor he  is  by  the  impossibility  of  de- 
cyphering  the  manuscript  found  on 
his  person." 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  is  an  account  of 
the  debates  in  both  Chambers  taken 
in  short-hand,  and  which,  with  the 
permission  of  Monsieur  le  Juge  de 
Paix,  I  will  read  to  him  directly."  I 
began  to  do  so  with  due  emphasis 
and  discretion.  But,  alas !  Mr.  Edi- 
tor, my  plain  unvarnished  tale  had  no 
effect  upon  these  Goths  and  Vandals; 
they  had  never  heard  of  the  Female 
Parliament,  and  they  persisted  in  de- 
claring that  I  used  the  name  of  that 


august  assembly  only  as  a  cover  for 
the  treasonable  designs  which  they 
had  no  doubt  my  papers  contained. 
In  short,  sir,  after  a  two  hours'  ex- 
amination, I  was  ordered  to  prison, 
where  I  have  now  been  three  days 
in  limbo ;  and  what  is  to  become  of 
me  if  you  can  do  nothing  in  my  be- 
half, heaven  only  knows !  I  might  in- 
deed apply  for  protection  to  the  fe- 
male legislators,  but  in  escaping  Scyl- 
la  I  should  most  likely  rush  upon 
Chary bdis;  for  as  I  have  never  ob- 
tained permission  from  either  Cham- 
ber to  publish  their  proceedings,  the 
probability  is,  that  if  they  delivered 
me  from  the  clutches  of  the  police, 
they  would  punish  me  themselves ; 
and  you  may  perceive  by  the  recent 
case  of  M.  Dureau  de  la  Malle,  that 
mercy  is  not  one  of  the  darling  attri- 
butes of  this  illustrious  body.  Lose 
no  time  therefore,  sir,  I  beg  of  you, 
in  representing  my  case  to  our  minis- 
ters ;  and  be  sure  to  explain  to  them 
properly  the  great  injury  which  the 
interests  of  literature  must  sustain 
by  my  detention,  as  well  as  the  wound 
which  would  be  inflicted  on  the  na- 
tional honour  should  I  be  guillotined. 
I  protest,  the  probability  of  this  last 
circumstance  brings  tears  into  my 
eyes;  not  for  my  own  fate — no,  sir,  I 
have  a  soul  above  all  selfish  consider- 
ations— but  for  the  irreparable  loss 
which  my  country  will  sustain  when- 
ever she  is  deprived  of  the  services 
of  her  and  your  ever  devoted, 

Sketciiem  O'Sckibf.. 


We  present  the  above  letter  to 
our  readers  as  an  apology  for  not 
giving  as  usual  the  repoit  of  the  de- 
bates in  the  French  Female  Parlia- 
ment; and  as  we  have  no  doubt  that 
they  are  truly  interested  in  the  fate 
of  our  reporter,  we  have  great  plea- 


AD0KGAMA    AND    OLLIIiNA. 


r319 


sure  in  informing  them,  that  we  have  II  that  matters  are  so  arranged  as  to 
been  fortunate  enough   to   procure  j  secure  to  us  in  future  a  continuance 
his  liberty,   without  being  obliged  to  |  of  his  valuable  labours  without  in- 
solicit  the  intervention  of  our  govern-    terruption. 
ment;   and  we  have  farther  to  add,  i  Editou. 


ADORGAMA  AND  OLLIENA. 


An  expedition  from  Spain,  under 
the  command  of  Don  Juan  Bejon, 
accompanied  by  a  dignified  ecclesias- 
tic, landed  on  the  22d  of  June,  1477, 
in  the  principal  of  the  Canary  Islands, 
and  pitched  their  tents  where  now 
stands  the  city  of  Palma.  The  Ca- 
narians  were  then  assembled  to  de- 
cide by  duel  a  dispute  between  two 
of  their  chiefs.  The  custom  of  the 
country  required  the  combatants  to 
engage  in  full  view  of  a  vast  assem- 
blage of  the  people.  The  attack 
commenced  by  throwing  three  round 
stones,  which,  with  dexterous  agility, 
each  endeavoured  to  avoid.  Then, 
armed  with  a  cudgel  in  the  right 
hand,  and  a  sharp  stone  in  the  left, 
they  beat  and  cut  each  other,  until 
the  gayres  or  nobles  cried  Gama, 
which  signified  enough. 

The  champions  were  about  to  re- 
tire in  perfect  reconciliation,  when 
five  magadas,  or  religious  women, 
breathless  and  half  distracted,!  an- 
nounced a  hostile  debarkation.  The 
Canarians  rushed  to  arms,  and  assail- 
ed the  Spaniards  with  the  desperate 
impetuosity  of  men  resolved  to  die, 
or  to  expel  the  enemies  of  their  free- 
dom. During  three  hours  the  con- 
flict was  maintained  with  heroic  per- 
severance on  the  part  of  the  islanders, 
but  with  overwhelming  power  by  the 
discipline  and  fire-arms  of  the  inva- 
ders. The  most  illustrious  Canarian 
chief,  Adorgama',  penetrating  too  ea- 
gerly a  column  of  the  Spanish  ar- 
Vol.  II.  No.  XII. 


my,  fell  wounded  and  insensible  into 
their  hands.  His  extraordinary  sta- 
ture and  valorous  exploits  in  the 
fight  attracted  peculiar  notice,  and 
he  was  carefully  attended  in  the  hos- 
pital, where  youth  and  a  constitution 
unbroken  by  luxury  surmounted  ago- 
nizing pangs  of  mind  and  body.  To 
be  a  captive  when  his  services  might 
be  so  important  to  his  country,  to  be 
torn  from  the  beloved  Olliena  and 
his  children,  and  to  be  uncertain  of 
their  fate,  or  the  decisive  struggles 
of  his  countrymen,  were  evils  almost 
overpowering  even  to  his  magnani- 
mous spirit.  The  image  of  Olliena 
never  left  his  thoughts  during  the 
day;  and  when  a  short,  a  troubled 
sleep  suspended  the  acute  sense  of 
calamity,  his  spouse  and  her  infants 
seemed  to  float  before  him  on  the 
breeze — lovely,  but  thin,  unsubstan- 
tial, yet  endearing  phantoms.  He 
knew  not  their  fate ;  he  still  hoped  a- 
gainst  the  forebodings  of  his  heart, 
that  death  had  removed  them  from  a 
land  subjugated  by  pitiless  strangers. 
In  the  great  mountain  of  Dormas 
resided  Olliena,  the  young  and  beau- 
tiful mate  of  Adorgama.  In  fragrant 
groves  she  listened  to  the  purling  of 
limpid  waters,  responsive  to  whisper- 
ing gales,  and  at  intervals  lost  in  con- 
certs of  a  thousand  Canary  birds, 
chanting  symphonies  to  the  rising 
sun.  A  messenger  sought  the  chief- 
tainess  Olliena  in  those  enchanting 
solitudes.  She  was  found.  He  cried 
U  u 


320 


ADORGAMA   AND   OLLIENA. 


aloud,  ere  he  drew  near,  "  Rava- 
gers  from  distant  lands  have  poured 
mortal  thunders  and  horrible  light- 
nings  upon  the  Canarians.  Ador- 
gama,  forcing  a  way  through  their 
ranks,  to  meet  the  leader  of  our  foes 
hand  to  hand,  hath  been  made  cap- 
tive."—-" Words  untrue!"  said  Ollie- 
na ;  "  Adorgama  would  not  be  seized 
while  life  remained." — "  Adorgama 
lives,"  said  the  messenger:  "  mangled 
and  insensible,  he  fell  into  the  pow- 
er of  the  enemy,  and  perhaps  breathes 
no  longer.  His  father  bids  thee 
hasten  to  our  camp,  to  save  thee  from 
dishonour,  and  thy  children  from  sla- 
very." 

Olliena  stood  aghast  one  brief 
moment — then  flew  to  her  peaceful 
abode,  the  abode  of  innocence  and 
connubial  love.  She  called  her  faith- 
ful attendants  to  bear  her. little  ones 
to  the  camp;  and  just  as  she  was 
ready  to  depart,  the  house  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  numerous  detachment 
of  Spaniards.  Olliena  with  her  chil- 
dren and  domestics  concealed  them- 
selves in  a  hidden  recess  of  the  dwel- 
ling. The  soldiers  pillaged  and  then 
set  fire  to  the  building:  Olliena,  her 
offspring  and  attendants  were  suf- 
focated and  reduced  to  ashes. 

Adorgama,  the  brave  unfortunate 
prisoner  in  the  castle  of  Guineguada, 
was  the  most  athletic  and  dexterous 
wrestler  of  his  nation,  and  in  durance 
to  the  spoiler  of  his  native  land  his 
only  solace  was  to  lose  the  recollec- 
tion of  past  days  in  feats  of  activity. 
He  was  sent  to  Spain,  to  amuse  the 
king  and  his  nobles.  When  at  Se- 
ville, a  peasant  of  La  Mancha,  fa- 
mous for  address  and  vigour,  chal- 


lenged the  Canarian  prince  to  a  trial 
of  skill. 

"  Brother,"  said  Adorgama,  "  I 
never  have  taken  advantage  of  any 
man;  and  it  is  but  fair  to  give  thee 
a  specimen  of  my  prowess  before  we 
come  to  a  more  fierce  encounter. 
Let  us  have  a  glass  of  wine  together, 
and  if  you  can  prevent  me  from 
drinking  a  bumper  without  spilling 
one  drop,  then  will  I  wrestle  with 
you ;  but  if  not,  you  had  better  go 
home  in  peace." 

Adorgama  deliberately  swallowed 
the  glass  of  wine,  though  the  pea- 
sant used  every  means  to  disturb 
and  prevent  him.  This  short  trial 
convinced  the  challenger  that  he 
ought  to  proceed  no  further. 

Sixteen  months  after  Adorgama 
was  sent  to  Spain,  a  Canarian,  who 
came  thither  as  servant  to  a  Spanish 
officer,  informed  him  of  the  fate  of 
his  loved  Olliena.  He  had  sustain- 
ed all  other  misfortunes  with  undaunt- 
ed courage,  but  his  heart  was  incu- 
rably stricken  by  the  melancholy  ca- 
tastrophe of  those  who  were  dearer 
to  him  than  individual  freedom  and 
prosperity.  He  drooped,  and  soon 
died.  When  the  Spaniards  attempt- 
ed to  console  his  grief,  he  said,  it 
was  indeed  sweet  to  his  soul  that  Ol- 
liena had  escaped  for  ever  from  op- 
pressors ;  but  their  existence  was  one 
and  inseparable.  He  had  lived  but  in 
the  hope  of  rejoining  her  on  earth; 
and  since  she  was  gone,  it  only  re- 
mained for  him  to  follow,  where  no 
destroyer  of  unoffending  strangers 
could  be  admitted.  Adorgama  ex- 
pired, rejoicing  that  he  was  going  to 
Olliena.  B.  G. 


sn 


GAELIC    RELICS. 

No.  VIII. 

THE    FAIRIES'   BALL. 


Mr.  Stewart,  in  his  interesting 
work  on  the  Popular  Superstitions 
and  Festive  Amusements  of  the  High- 
landers of  Scotland,  relates  the  fol- 
lowing tradition. 

Nearly  three  hundred  years  ago 
there  lived  in  Strathspey,  two  men 
greatly  celebrated  for  their  perform- 
ances upon  the  fiddle.  It  happened 
upon  a  certain  Christmas-time  they  i 
had  formed  the  resolution  of  going 
to  Inverness,  to  he  employed  in  their 
musical  capacities  during  that  festive 
season.  Accordingly  having  arrived 
in  the  sn'eat  town,  and  secured  lodg- 
ings,  they  sent  round  the  newsman 
and  his  bell,  to  announce  to  the  in- 
habitants their  arrival  in  town,  and 
the  object  of  it;  their  great  celebrity 
in  their  own  country,  and  the  num- 
ber of  tunes  they  played,  with  the 
rate  per  day,  per  night,  or  hour. 
Very  soon  after  they  were  called  up- 
on by  a  venerable-looking  old  man, 
grey-haired  and  somewhat  wrinkled, 
of  genteel  deportment  and  liberal 
disposition  ;  for  instead  of  grudging 
their  charges,  he  only  said  he  would 
double  their  demand.  They  cheer- 
fully agreed  to  accompany  him,  and 
soon  found  themselves  at  the  door  of 
a  very  curious  dwelling,  the  appear- 
ance of  which  they  did  not  at  all  re- 
lish. It  was  night,  but  still  they 
could  easily  distinguish  the  house  to 
be  neither  like  the  great  castle 
Grant,  castle  Lethindry,  castle  Roy, 
or  castle  na-Muckeruch,  or  any  other 
residence  of  their  chief,  nor  any 
house  they  had  seen  in  their  travels. 
It  resembled  a  hugev  fairy  Tomhan, 
such  as  are  seen  in  Glenmore.     But 


the  mild  persuasive  eloquence  of  their 
guide,  enforced  by  the  irresistible  ar- 
guments of  a  purse  of  gold,  soon 
removed  any  scruples  they  enter- 
tained at  entering  so  novel  a  man- 
sion. They  entered  the  place,  and 
all  sensations  of  fear  were  soon  ab- 
sorbed in  admiration  of  the  august 
assembly  around  them.  Strings  tuned 
to  sweet  harmony  soon  gave  birth  to 
glee  in  the  dwelling.  The  floor 
bounded  beneath  the  agile  "  fantastic 
toe,"  and  gaiety  in  its  height  per- 
vaded every  soul  present.  The  night 
passed  on  harmoniously,  while  the 
diversity  of  the  reels  and  the  love- 
liness of  the  dancers  presented  to 
the  fiddlers  the  most  gratifying  scene 
they  had  ever  witnessed ;  and  in  the 
morning,  when  the  ball  was  termi- 
nated, they  took  their  leave,  sorry 
that  their  term  of  engagement  was 
so  short,  and  highly  gratified  with 
the  liberal  treatment  they  had  expe- 
rienced. But  what  was  their  asto- 
nishment on  issuing  from  this  strange 
dwelling,  when  they  beheld  the  no- 
vel scene  which  surrounded  them  I 
Instead  of  coming  out  of  a  castle, 
they  found  they  had  issued  from  a 
little  hill,  they  knew  not  by  what 
way;  and  on  entering  the  town,  thev 
found  the  objects  which  yesterday 
shone  in  the  splendour  of  novelty, 
to-day  exhibit  only  the  ruins  and  ra- 
vages of  time,  while  strange  innova- 
tions of  dress  and  manners  displayed 
by  the  numerous  spectators,  filled 
them  with  wonder  and  consternation. 
At  last  a  mutual  understanding  took 
place  between  themselves  and  the 
crowd  assembled  to  look  upon  them; 
U  u  2 


3t± 


AXGEUS    AND    ITS    ENVIRONS. 


and  a  short  account  of  their  adven- 
tures led  the  more  sagacious  anions? 
the  crowd  to  suspect  at  once  that 
they  had  been  paying  a  visit  to  the 
inmates  of  Tomnafuirach,  which,  not 
long  ago,  was  the  grand  rendezvous 
of  fairy  bands  inhabiting  the  adja- 
cent districts;  and  the  arrival  of  a 
very  old  man  on  the  spot  set  the  mat- 
ter at  rest.  He  walked  up  to  the 
two  poor  old  oddities  who  were  the 
objects  of  amazement,  and  having 
learned  their  history,  thus  addressed 
them:  "  You  are  the  two  men  my 
great-grandfather  lodged,  and  who, 
it  was  supposed,  were  decoyed  by 
Thomas  Rymer  to  Tomnafuirach. 
Sorely  did  your  friends  lament  your 
loss;  but  the  lapse  of  a  hundred 
years  has  now  rendered  your  name 
extinct." 

The  Gaelic  Relics  that  have  ap- 
peared in  the  Repository  afford 
animated  sketches  of  the  genius,  sen- 
timents, and  manners  of  the  mighty 
chiefs    who   were    the    nearest   de- 


scendants of  Fingal  and  his  heroes. 
They  bear  internal  evidence  of  being 
the  composition  of  bards  in  the  high- 
est classes  of  society.  The  very 
amusing  volume  from  which  we  have 
taken  the  adventures  of  a  Highland 
Van  Winkel  has  preserved  the  tra- 
ditional lore  of  their  vassals  in  exten- 
sive districts.  It  is  a  curious  coinci- 
dence, that  a  people  who  never  could 
have  heard  of  the  German  or  Trans- 
atlantic Epimenides  should  have  a 
story  on  the  same  basis  current 
among  them  from  time  immemorial. 
Several  of  the  narratives  related  by 
Mr.  Stewart  will  afford  gratification 
to  readers  who  find  an  agreeable  ex- 
ercise of  their  higher  faculties,  in 
comparing  those  similitudes  in  the 
creations  of  fancy  among  tribes  the 
most  distant  in  situation  and  circum- 
stances. For  instance,  to  compare 
them  with  the  German,  or  Northern, 
or  Asiatic  tales,  might  furnish  specu- 
lation for  a  metaphysical  genius,  in 
tracing  the  affinities  of  imagination. 


HISTORICAL  AND  DESCRIPTIVE  PARTICULARS  RESPECTING 
THE  TOWN  OF  ANGERS  AND  ITS  ENVIRONS. 


The  following  miscellaneous  par- 
ticulars respecting  one  of  the  less 
known  districts  of  France,  are  ex- 
tracted from  the  interesting  Re- 
cherckes  Historlques  sur  V  Anjou, 
Sec.  by  M.  Bodin,  a  member  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  just  published 
at  Paris. 

Rene"  le  Bon,  King  of  Sicily,  and 
Count  of  Provence  and  Anjou,  a 
prince  of  a  chivalrous  disposition, 
announced  in  1446  his  intention  to 
hold  a  tournament,  which  he  did  soon 
afterwards.  It  took  place  in  a  plain 
near  Saumur.  The  first  prize  was  a 
fine  dextricr  (horse),  and  the  second 
was    a  fermaillc   (coffer)   enriched 


with  diamonds.     The  king  defrayed 
the  expenses  of  the  tournament. 

Three  years  afterwards  the  same 
prince  gave  another  tournament  at 
Tarascon  in  Provence,  an  account 
of  which  has  been  written  by  an 
Angevin,  Louis  de  Beauvais.  "  At 
that  epocha,"  says  M.  Bodin,  "  such 
was  the  gross  ignorance  of  the  French 
nobility,  that  the  greater  part  of  them 
thought  it  an  honour  not  to  know 
how  to  read  or  write.  At  the  court 
of  Anjou,  on  the  contrary,  most  of 
the  great,  following  the  example  of 
their  prince,  were  men  of  letters,  and 
many  of  them  have  left  us  in  their 
works  proofs  of  no  mean  talent." 


ANGERS    AND    ITS    ENVIRONS. 


323 


The  prince  who  excited  this  noble 
emulation  was  indeed  an  honour  to 
the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  not 
less  distinguished  by  the  goodness 
of  his  heart  than  by  his  talents.  He 
was  well  skilled  in  painting,  and  has 
left  a  treatise  on  tournaments  en- 
riched with  designs  by  his  own  hand, 
which  is  still  extant  in  the  kino-'-,  li- 
brary  in  Paris. 

Prefixed  to  the  account  of  the 
tournament  at  Tarascon,  given  by 
Beauvais,  is  a  miniature  representa- 
tion of  the  opening  of  this  tourna- 
ment. You  see  a  landscape,  in  the 
middle  of  which  is  a  shepherdess, 
and  near  her  a  large  tree,  from  which 
hang  two  helmets,  one  white  and 
the  other  black:  the  first  was  the 
symbol  of  joy.  The  prize  was  a 
bouquet  and  a  kiss  of  the  shep- 
herdess. 

This  tournament  lasted  three  days ; 
several  of  the  champions  broke  three 
lances,  but  Ferri  de  Lorraine  was 
the  only  one  who  broke  four,  and  he 
consequently  gained  the  prize. 

Private  houses,  however  maguifi- 
cent,  were  formerly  called  in  Anjou 
logis.  he  Logis  Barrault  at  Angers 
was  built  in  the  15th  century  by 
Oliver  Barrault,  treasurer  of  Bre- 
tagne. 

When  Caesar  Borgia,  Due  de  Va- 
lentinois,  went  to  France,  bringing 
from  Rome  to  Louis  XII.  bills  of 
divorce  and  dispensation  of  mar- 
riage, the  prince,  who  received  him 
at  Chiuon,  and  accompanied  him  to 
Angers,  conducted  him  to  the  Logis 
Barrault.  This  hotel  belonged  af- 
terwards to  Marie  de  Medicis,  widow 
of  Henry  IV.  This  princess  made 
it  her  residence.  It  is  now  appropri- 
ated to  the  publie  service,  and  con- 
tains  the  Museum,  the   Cabinet  of 


Natural  History,  and  the  Public  Li- 
brary of  the  town  of  Angers. 

The  Chateau  du  Verger,  four 
leagues  from  Angers,  which  was  be- 
gun in  1499,  was  demolished  in  1780 
and  the  following  years.  This  su- 
perb chateau  consisted  of  two  grand 
paved  courts,  flanked  by  round  tow- 
ers placed  at  its  extreme  angles :  it 
was  built  of  beautiful  white  stone ; 
the  architecture  was  demi-Gothic ; 
it  was  a  sort  of  compound  of  the 
Arabian,  Grecian,  and  Roman  ar- 
chitecture, on  account  of  which  this 
edifice  was  extremely  interesting  to 
the  history  of  the  art.  Its  execution 
was  perfect ;  its  ornaments,  of  which 
it  had  a  great  number,  were  exe- 
cuted with  an  admirable  delicacy, 
which  accorded  well  with  the  re~ 
geasse  of  which  it  was  built,  a  sort 
of  stone  a  great  deal  whiter,  nearly 
as  hard,  and  of  a  grain  as  fine  as 
alabaster. 

Our  author  gives  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  entry  of  the  Due  de 
Valentinois  into  Angers :  The  pro- 
cession was  opened  by  twenty-four 
beautiful  mules  loaded  with  coffers, 
the  lids  of  which  were  ornamented 
with  the  arms  of  the  duke ;  they 
were  followed  by  the  same  number 
of  mules,  whose  housings  were  of 
red  and  yellow  cloth,  the  colours  of 
the  king's  livery;  twelve  mules  of 
still  superior  beauty,  with  housings 
of  yellow  satin,  came  next;  and  after 
them  ten  more  mules,  whose  housings 
were  cloth  of  gold,  making  in  all 
seventy  mules  of  the  finest  kind. 
These  were  succeeded  by  sixteen 
stately  horses,  whose  housings  were 
of  red  and  yellow  cloth.  ■  Next  came 
eighteen  pages  well  mounted,  sixteen 
of  whom  were  attired  in  crimson  veU 
vet,  and  two  in  cloth  of  gold.    Then 


S2A 


ANGERS    AND    ITS    ENVIRONS. 


appeared  six  most  beautiful  mules 
richly  caparisoned,  which  were  led  by 
grooms  dressed  in  crimson  velvet; 
they  were  followed  by  two  mules  car- 
rying coffers  covered  with  gold  cloth, 
which  were  filled  with  gold  vessels 
and  precious  stones.  After  them 
came  thirty  gentlemen  dressed  in 
gold  and  silver  cloth.  Then  follow- 
ed musicians  and  trumpeters  richly 
habited,  preceding  the  duke,  who 
was  surrounded  by  twenty-four  va- 
lets habited  in  crimson  velvet  and 
yellow  satin.  Nothing  could  be  more 
magnificent  than  the  appearance  of 
the  duke:  he  was  mounted  on  a  su- 
perb courser,  magnificently  capari- 
soned ;  his  habit  was  of  gold  cloth 
and  red  satin,  embroidered  with 
pearls  and  precious  stones ;  in  his 
cap  was  a  double  row  of  five  or  six 
rubies,  of  the  size  of  a  large  bean, 
which  shone  with  a  dazzling  lustre ; 
round  his  boots  were  twined  strings 
of  pearls,  and  the  collar  that  he  wore 
was  valued  at  thirty  thousand  du- 
cats. The  horse  that  he  rode  was 
entirely  covered  with  gold  lama,  or- 
namented with  pearls  and  precious 
stones.  He  had  besides  a  most  beau- 
tiful little  mule  to  ride  through  the 
town,  whose  harness,  saddle,  and 
bridle  were  entirely  covered  with 
roses  of  fine  gold.  The  duke  was 
followed  by  twenty-four  mules  with 
red  housings  ornamented  with  his 
arms,  and  the  procession  was  closed 
by  a  number  of  chariots  loaded  with 
his  baggage. 

In  the  Memoirs  of  St.  Simon,  there 
is  an  account  of  a  trick  of  the  Mar- 
quis de  Charnace,  who,  not  being 
able  to  prevail  on  a  tailor  to  sell  him 
a  house  which  obstructed  his  view, 
found  means  to  displace  it,  without 
the  good  man  being  conscious  of  his 
having  done  so.    M.  Bodin  relates  an 


anecdote  of  this  marquis  which  is 
less  known.  The  proprietor  of  a 
small  estate  in  the  country,  named 
Pioger,  a  great  huntsman,  was  em- 
ployed to  train  the  king's  dogs,  and 
every  year  he  presentedsome  of  them 
to  his  majesty.  One  day  he  arrived 
at  Versailles  with  a  beautiful  setting- 
dog  ;  the  king  wished  to  try  the  ani- 
mal on  the  following  day,  and  he  was 
so  pleased  with  it,  that  he  expressed 
his  satisfaction  to  Pioger,  who  had 
the  honour  to  accompany  him  to  the 
chase.  Pioger,  who,  in  spite  of  his 
journeys  to  court,  always  retained  an 
air  of  rustic  simplicity,  replied,  "  I 
am  very  <glad  of  it,  sire,  for  it  is  per- 
haps the  last  that  your  majesty  will 
receive  from  me."  Surprised  at  what 
he  heard,  the  king  insisted  on  know- 
ing who  had  the  power  to  prevent 
him  from  continuing  to  train  his  dogs. 
After  some  moments'  hesitation,  Pio- 
ger replied,  "  Monseigneur  de  Char- 
nace does  not  please  that  I  should ; 
and  although  I  always  have  engraved 
on  the  collars  of  my  dogs,  '  I  belong 
to  the  king,'  that  does  not  hinder  M. 
de  Charnace  from  firing  on  them ;  and 
truly  I  fear  that  some  day  or  other 
the  ball  may  hit  me."  The  king  said 
not  a  word  in  reply,  but  the  very 
same  day  he  ordered  the  Marquis  de 
de  Charnace  into  exile,  nor  could  he 
ever  be  prevailed  on  to  recall  him. 

The  town  of  Angers  was  formerly 
called  La  Ville  Noire,  because  the 
wooden  pillars  in  front  of  most  of  the 
houses  were  covered  with  slates.  Its 
appearance  is  now  much  changed: 
many  of  the  houses  have  been  built 
within  the  last  thirty  years;  they  are 
constructed  of  beautiful  white  stone, 
and  some  of  the  quarters  are  entire- 
ly new.  M.  Bodin  observes,  how- 
ever, that  there  is  still  one  very  es- 
sential thing  wanting  in  the  town  of 


ANGEUS    AND    ITS    I.NVIUONS. 


.325 


Angers;  that  is,  good  water:  it  is  true 
that  such  of  the  inhabitants  as  are  in 
easy  circumstances  have  their  water 
fetched  from  the  Loire,  but  the 
greatest  number  are  obliged  to  drink 
the  waters  of  their  wells,  or  that  of 
the  Maine,  which  is  still  worse. 

In  paying  a  just  tribute  of  praise 
to  the  administrators,  who,  for  the 
third  part  of  a  century,  have  made 
such  happy  efforts  to  embellish  their 
town,  and  to  render  it  wholesome, 
M.  Bodin  says,  "  Might  I  be  allowed 
to  form  a  wish  for  Angers,  it  would 
be  to  see  fountains  raised  in  the  pub- 
lic places,  where  all  the  inhabitants 
might  draw  salubrious  waters  from 
the  sources  nearest  to  Angers,  or 
what  would  be  still  better,  those  of 
the  Loire;  and  that  those  fountains 
might  serve  as  historical  monuments, 
to  transmit  to  posterity  the  names 
and  actions  of  our  most  illustrious 
countrymen,  and  above  all,  those  of 
the  benefactors  of  humanity." 

On  the  high  road  from  Angers  to 
Nantes,  four  leagues  from  Angers,  is 
the  Chateau  de  Servant,  which  M.  Bo- 
din describes  as  a  vast  edifice,  com- 
posed of  many  different  masses  of 
buildings,  raised  during  the  three 
last  centuries ;  and  this  medley  of  va- 
rious kinds  of  architecture,  far  from 
shocking  the  eye  of  taste,  serves  on 
the  contrary  to  give  to  the  whole  an 
appearance  at  once  picturesque  and 
imposing.  One  of  the  fronts,  which 
is  opposite  to  the  Loire,  is  flanked 
at  its  extremities  by  two  beautiful 
round  towers,  crowned  with  entabla- 
tures and  covered  in  the  dome  form. 
The  principal  front  faces  the  road 
from  Angers  to  Nantes;  it  is  placed 
between  two  grand  wings,  that  form 
two  sides  of  the  court  of  honour. 
Buonaparte  visited  this   chateau  in 


1808,  and  said  of  it,  "  I  see  at  last 
a  chateau  in  France,  the  architecture 
of  which  reminds  me  of  Italy." 

The  Chateau  de  Servant  is  com- 
posed of  a  ress  de  chaussee  and  two 
stories:  the  grounds  correspond  in 
beauty.  The  park  contains  wood, 
water,  natural  and  artificial  meadows, 
orchards,  pleasure-grounds,  kitchen- 
gardens,  a  hot-house,  and  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  orangeries  in  France, 
after  those  of  the  royal  palaces. 

In  describing  the  church  of  St. 
Florent,  M.  Bodin  gives  an  anecdote 
of  the  Marquis  de  Bonchamps,  whose 
tomb  has  been  lately  erected  there. 
In  1793,  the  Vendeans  had  lodged 
four  thousand  prisoners  in  the  church 
of  St.  Florent,  and  not  being  able 
to  carry  them  off  in  their  precipitate 
retreat  after  the  battle  of  Chollet, 
were  going  to  massacre  them,  when 
the  marquis,  one  of  the  Vendean 
chiefs,  who  was  mortally  wounded, 
obtained  on  the  spot,  by  his  pressing- 
entreaties,  their  liberty  and  life.  Such 
a  trait  in  a  civil  war  is  more  glorious 
than  the  most  brilliant  victory. 

The  base  of  his  tomb  is  decorated 
with  laurel  and  cypress,  and  two  alle- 
gorical figures  in  bas-relief,  the  one 
representing  Religion,  the  other 
France.  The  figure  of  the  marquis,  a 
little  larger  than  life,  lies  upon  a  lit- 
ter. He  is  in  the  attitude  of  raising 
himself;  and  leaning  upon  his  left 
arm,  he  raises  his  right,  extending  his 
hand,  as  pronouncing  the  last  order 
he  ever  gave :  "  Gvace  aux  pvison- 
nievs!  Bonchamps  Vovdonne."  This 
memorable  order  is  engraved  above 
the  litter.  He  is  represented  naked 
to  the  waist,  and  his  mantle,  thrown 
over  his  right  arm,  partially  covers 
the  lower  part  of  his  body. 

M.  Bodin  claims  for  the  town  of 


526 


ANGERS    AND    ITS    ENVIRONS. 


Angers  the  honour  of  having  erect- 
ed the  first  theatre :  he  thinks  that  it 
was  opened  in  1420,  with  "the  Mys- 
tery of  the  Resurrection,"  written  by 
Jean  Michel,  a  physician. 

In  enumerating  the  eminent  natives 
of  Angers,  the  author  takes  occasion 
to  pay  a  warm  eulogy  to  the  cele- 
brated Volney,  of  whom  Denon,  in 
his  work  on  Egypt,  says:  "In  tra- 
versing the  city  of  Alexandria,  I  was 
forcibly  reminded  of  the  account  giv- 
en of  it  by  Volney,  who  has  indeed 
described  it  with  such  truth,  that 
when  some  months  afterwards  I  again 
read  his  delightful  work,  I  could 
hardly  persuade  myself  that  I  was 
not  once  more  in  Alexandria.  If 
Volney  had  thus  described  to  us  the 
whole  of  Egypt,  no  one  would  ever 
have  thought  any  other  description 
of  it  necessary." 

On  Volney's  return  from  Alexan- 
dria, he  was  admitted  into  the  first  li- 
terary circles,  and  particularly  into 
that  of  Madame  Helvetius,  where 
he  became  acquainted  with  Cabanis, 
Morellet,  the  Cointe  de  Tracy,  Jef- 
ferson, then  ambassador  of  the  Unit- 
ed States,  &c.  &c.  He  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  National  Assembly,  but 
spoke  very  little,  from  the  defect  of 
his  organs ;  and  after  it  was  closed, 
he  went  to  Corsica  to  form  an  agri- 
cultural establishment. 

In  1795,  he  was  a  professor  of  his- 
tory at  VEcole  Normale  in  Paris ; 
and  notwithstanding  the  little  time  he 
had  to  prepare  his  lectures,  he  ren- 
dered them  very  interesting.  Soon 
afterwards  he  went  to  the  United 
States  of  America,  carrying  with  him 
that  spirit  of  observation  with  which 


nature  had  so  liberally  endowed  him, 
and  which  experience  had  improved. 
While  he  was  in  America,  the  Insti- 
tute was  established  in  France,  and 
Volney's  name  was  inserted  in  the 
class  that  replaced  the  French  Aca- 
demy. 

On  his  return,  he  published  his 
"  Travels  in  the  United  States." 
But  he  now  beean  to  advance  in 
years,  and  it  became  apparent  that 
the  continuance  of  his  literary  la- 
bours impaired  his  health:  on  that 
account,  and  also  in  the  hope  of  find- 
ing amusement,  he  bought  a  country- 
seat,  four  leagues  from  Paris,  where 
he  found  health  and  recreation.  It 
was  there  that  he  composed  his  "  lie- 
cherches  nouvelles  sur  VHistoire  An- 
cienne"  a  work  which  alone  would 
have  given  a  high  degree  of  celebrity 
to  his  name,  from  the  talents  and 
learning  he  has  displayed  in  it.  In 
1814,  Volney  was  elevated  to  the 
dignity  of  a  peer  of  France  :  on  this 
occasion  he  returned  to  the  capital, 
and  died  in  1820. 

Having  given  himself  up  almost 
exclusively  to  the  study  of  Oriental 
languages  for  twenty-five  years,  he 
founded  in  the  Institute  an  annual 
prize  of  1200  francs,  to  stimulate 
the  zeal  of  those  who  were  willing  to 
continue  his  useful  labours. 

M.  Bodin  concludes  his  eulogium 
in  the  following  words :  "  Volney  is, 
without  dispute,  the  most  illustrious 
man  that  Anjou  has  produced;  he  is 
the  ornament  and  the  glory  of  that 
province,;  his  celebrity  has  extended 
itself  over  both  hemispheres — it  is 
universal." 


327 


THE  GARDEN;  A  Rhapsody: 

Addressed  to  my  Friend  on  his  u  Hints  for  Ornamental  Gardening" 
And  thus,  Amanda 


-together  let  us  tread 


The  morning  dews,  and  gather  in  their  prime 
Fresh-blooming  flowers,  to  grace  thy  braided  hair. 


Thomson. 


Of  all  the  pleasures  of  a  country 
life,  perhaps  there  are  none  which 
exceed  those  of  gardening.  To  train 
up  a  jessamine  in  the  way  it  should 
grow,  is  a  more  certain  thing  than 
training  up  a  child,  because  the  form- 
er will  not  depart  from  it.  Thom- 
son had  no  children ;  if  he  had  had 
any,  and  had  educated  them  himself, 
he  would  never  have  written  the 
lines  beginning 

"  Delightful  task  to  rear  the  tender  thought ;" 

but  rather,  "  to  teach  the  young  cle- 
matis how  to  shoot." 

When  I  rise  in  the  morning  my 
ear  is  not  greeted  with  the  sound  of 
"  Milk  below!"  or  "  Old  clothes!" 
but  in  the  spring  the  lark  and  all 
the  other  birds  seem  to  hail  my  ap- 
pearance. In  the  autumn — aye  in 
December  too — the  robin  twitters  at 
my  door:  but  the  garden! — even  in 
February  what  a  broad  expanse  of 
sun  I  behold  on  that  lawn  !  more 
than  you  in  London  catch  from  your 
chimney-tops  in  a  month,  unless  in- 
deed ill  a  suburban  residence  you 
take  up  your  abode.  How  brightly 
then  does  Sol  gild  those  crocusses ! 
and  the  blanch  of  those  snow-drops, 
what  can  be  more  delicately  white ! 
'Tis  cruelly  perplexing,  it  is  true,  to 
know  through  all  the  winter  when  to 
water  and  how  much  to  water  your 
plants  ;  to  see  the  geranium  reared 
by  your  own  hand  droop  and  decay, 
and  to  know  you  are  losing  irreco- 
verably what  has  cost  you  so  much 
trouble.  This  is  as  bad  as  to  see 
your  book   fall   still-born  from  ■  the 

Vol  II.  No.  XII. 


press.  Rut  then  how  sweet  it  is  to 
behold  those  plants,  which  you  have 
regretted  as  deceased  friends  leaving 
you  for  ever,  bud  forth  afresh  and 
throw  out  new  leaves!  Your  roses, 
which  have  withstood  all  the  storms 
of  winter,  again  bloom,  and  fling 
delicious  odours  through  the  garden. 
Who  but  the  lover  of  gardening 
knows  the  pleasure  of  watching  the 
annuals  rise,  and  the  tulips  burst 
from  the  ground !  Are  they  the  kind 
he  has  often  wished  to  possess?  Will 
they  flourish  in  his  soil  ?  At  length 
a  nucleus  bud  is  seen  to  rise  from 
the  ground  ;  it  throws  out  a  length- 
ened leaf,  a  stem  and  bud ;  it  opens, 
and  the  gaudy  flower  he  wished  for 
bursts  forth. 

Throw  open  now  your  green-house 
doors ;  there  many  a  sickly  plant  is 
become  a  thriving  shrub,  and  many 
a  naked  stick  is  now  clothed  in  wav- 
ing verdure — flowers  of  every  hue, 
nor  without  scent  the  rose.  How 
flies  the  time  in  training  each  tender 
stem !  Quickly  would  the  man  who 
divides  his  time  between  literary  lore 
and  botanical  or  floral  pursuits,  tear 
himself  away  from  the  latter  almost 
too  fascinating  enjoyment,  but  some 
plant  still  wants  a  stick,  some  flower 
still  droops  for  want  of  the  cheering 
draught:  he  must  obey  this  call,  and 

then  will  leave but  he  perceives 

weeds  choking  the  richly  ultrama- 
rine gentiana,  or  some  other  cherish- 
ed child  wants  a  firmer  support,  and 
then  he  will  resume  his  literary  task, 
even  should  the  mignonette,  though 
X  x 


328 


THE   GAItDEN  :    A   RHAPSODY. 


blown  about  by  winds,  seek  to  detain 
him  while  begging  protection  from 
its  chequered  treillage. 

Yet  perhaps  he  has  forgotten  the 
heated  frame  where  cuttings  of  rare 
plants  of  his  own  taking  make  a  loud 
call  on  his  egotism.  They  must  not 
be  suffered  to  be  burnt  up  alive ;  the 
glasses  must  be  raised :  those  small 
apparently  dry  sticks  are  now  burst- 
ing with  sap;  some  have  thrown  out 
leaves;  they  will  bear  flowers,  and 
throw  out  odours.  Now  and  then 
indeed  he  has  his  vexations:  his 
knife,  too  blunt,  crops  the  long-ex- 
pected flower,  too  closely  seated  to 
a  decayed  stem ;  he  tears  up  with 
the  roller's  iron  plants  which  long 
were  wanted  for  some  ill -looking 
space,  and  time  and  seasons  alone  will 
retrieve  the  devastation.  Storms  also 
check  and  frosts  kill  his  tenderest 
children ;  snails  devour  his  dahlias, 
and  the  earwig  spoils  his  pinks :  yet 
spring  again  appears,  and  again  he 
plies  his  task. 

Gardening  is  the  most  ancient  as 
well  as  the  most  innocent  of  amuse- 
ments. A  man  of  irritated  feelings 
may  dig  himself  into  composure,  or 
rake  himself  into  complaisance.  In 
the  enjoyment  of  a  garden  Cowper 
soothed  his  wretchedness;  but  Lam- 
bert, the  coadjutor  of  Cromwell,  did 
not  forget  all  his  political  schemes  of 
reformation  in  cultivating  a  common- 
wealth of  tulips*. 

The  garden  too  must  have  a  bow- 
er; and  what  is  so  delightful  as  a 
country  garden-bower?  It  is  as  un- 

*  Roger  Coke  informs  us,  that  after 
Lambert  had  been  discarded  by  Oliver, 
"  he  betook  himself  to  Wimbleton- 
House,  where  he  turned  florist,  and  had 
the  fairest  tulips  and  gilliflowers  that 
could  be  got  for  love  or  money."  He 
also  painted  flowers.  j 


like  that  at  Ilornsey-wood  House  as 
a  myrtle  is  unlike  awatchbox.  The 
country  garden  must  have  a  retreat, 

Where  woodbines   flaunt,    and  roses  shed  a 
couch. 

Here  must  be  not  only  the  woodbine 
but  the  virgin's  bower,  or  clematis 
of  different  scents  and  hues,  the 
everlasting  pea,  and  curling  up  to 
each  devious  stem,  the  brightly  pur- 
ple and  white-cupped  convolvulus, 
and  the  scarlet  ipomea. 

In  my  youthful  days  I  built  a  bow- 
er— yes,  such  a  bower !  But  what  is 
a  bower  without  a  lover !  Then  how 
coidd  I  better  finish  the  effect  of  this 
bower  than  by  becoming  a  lover  also? 
Emma,  then  beautiful  and  fair  as 
a  Houri,  beheld  my  works,  until  I, 

Indulging  all  to  love,  on  the  green  bank 
Thrown  among  drooping  lilies,  swell'd  the 

breeze 
With  sighs  unceasing. 

But  she  proved  false — yet  I  not  un- 
done, for  I  wedded  another.  The 
bower  I  built  I  visited  not  long  since ; 
but  years  had  come  and  gone,  and 
I  found  my  bower,  for 

whisp'ring  lovers  made, 


shorn  indeed  of  many  of  its  honours ; 
but  it  had  become  a  play-house  for 
more  beautiful  productions  of  nature 
— Emma's  children. 

It  is  now  autumn,  and  I  will  con- 
clude this  rhapsody.  How  often  do 
we  scribblers  write  to  please  others ! 
This  I  have  written  to  please  myself. 
To  see  it  in  print  will  perhaps  gra- 
tify none  but  myself,  and  yet  it  may 
entertain  some  one  else.  The  sear 
leaf  now  lies  wet  upon  the  lawn ;  the 
shrubbery  is  gilt  with  golden  hues, 
the  copper  beech,  the  crimson-leaved 
azalea.  The  sun  gleams  on  the  bor- 
ders, and  gives  a  not  unpleasing  me- 
lancholy to  the  scene.  It  tells  that 
another  year  is  going,  and  that  we 
are  fleeing  also.  But  still  the  garden 


TRIFLES. 


.329 


has  its  charms;  and  if  devastation  I  the   cyrilla  throws   out  a  thousand 


and  rustling  leaves  cheer  not  the 
heart  of  man,  the  green-house  dressed 
in  a  thousand  hues  will  make  a  se- 
cond summer.  Here  the  carnosian 
hoya  sheds   its   odoriferous  honey ;  ' 


ruby  flowers ;  and  should  even  the 
snow  fall,  pelargoniums,  geraniums, 
and  myrtles  will  still  impart  amuse- 
ment and  instruction  to  the  gardener. 

C. 


TRIFLES. 


Geniuses  of  the  very  first  order 
seem  to  have  enjoyed,  time  imme- 
morial, a  licence,  granted  by  the 
common  consent  of  mankind,  exempt- 
ing them  from  attention  to  such  con- 
cerns as  might  interrupt  their  im- 
portant avocations ;  and  according- 
ly, in  the  greatness  of  their  intellectual 
strength,  we  are  apt  to  forget  those 
weaknesses  which  shew  that  they  are 
no  more  than  human.  But  the  li- 
cence has  been  too  often  claimed  by 
individuals  who  could  at  best  pro- 
duce a  title  to  the  second  or  third 
order  of  intelligence  ;  and  from  their 
ostentatious  display  of  weakness  in 
trifles,  without  a  redeeming  strength 
in  essentials,  has  arisen  the  popular 
error,  that  the  man  of  letters  must 
present  in  his  person  a  complication 
of  oddities,  and  in  his  actions  either 
an  ignorance  or  a  recklessness  of  the 
ways  of  men. 

This  artful  self-abasement  is  ad- 
mirably hit  off  by  Swift  in  his  Histo- 
ry of  the  second  Solomon,  Dr.  She- 
ridan, wherein,  although  much  is  set 
down  in  malice  as  far  as  regards  the 
doctor,  yet  the  folly  itself  is  more 
strikingly  exhibited  than  I  remember 
to  have  found  any  where  else.  "  He 
became  acquainted  with  a  person* 
distinguished  for  poetical  and  other 
writings,  and  in  an  eminent  station, 
who  treated  him  with  great  kindness 
on  all  occasions,  and  he  became  fa- 
miliar in  this  person's  house.  In  three 
.    *   Swift  himself. 


months  time  Solomon,  without  the 
least  provocation,  writ  a  long  poem, 
describing  that  person's  Muse  to  be 
dead,  and  making  a  funeral  solemni- 
ty with  apes,  owls,  &c.  and  gave  the 
copy  among  all  his  acquaintance. 
The  person  whom  he  thus  lampoon- 
ed procured  him  a  good  preferment 
from  the  lord  lieutenant:  upon  going 
down  to  take  possession,  Solomon 
preached  at  Cork  a  sermon  on  King 
George's  birth-day,  on  this  text: 
'  Sufficient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  there- 
of.' Solomon  having  been  famous  for 
a  high  Tory,  and  suspected  as  a  Ja- 
cobite, it  was  a  most  difficult  thing 
to  get  any  thing  for  him ;  but  that  per- 
son being  an  old  friend  of  Lord  Carta- 
retf,  prevailed  against  all  Solomon's 
enemies,  and  got  him  made  likewise 
one  of  his  excellency's  chaplains :  but 
upon  this  sermon,  he  was  struck  out 
of  the  list,  and  forbid  the  Castle,  un- 
til that  same  person  brought  him 
again  to  the  lieutenant  and  made 
them  friends.  Solomon  has  no  ill 
design  upon  any  person  but  himself, 
and  he  is  the  greatest  deceiver  of 
himself  on  all  occasions.  His  thoughts 
are  sudden,  and  the  most  unreason- 
able always  comes  uppermost,  and  he 
constantly  resolves  and  acts  upon 
his  first  thoughts,  and  then  asks  ad- 
vice, but  never  once  before.  Solomon 
is  under-tenant  to  a  bishop's  lease ;  he 
is  bound  by  articles  to  his  lordship 
to  renew  and  pay  a  fine  whenever 
f  Then  lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland. 
X  x  2 


SM) 


TRIFLES. 


the  bishop  renews  with  his  Landlord, 
and  to  raise  his  rent  as  the  landlord 
shall  raise  it  to  the  bishop.  Seven 
years  expire,  Solomon's  landlord  de- 
mands a  fine,  which  he  readily  pays ; 
then  asks  for  a  lease,  and  the  land- 
lord says  '  he  may  have  it  at  any  time.' 
He  never  gets  it.  Another  seven 
years  elapse,  Solomon's  landlord  de- 
mands another  fine  and  an  addition- 
al rent.  Solomon  pays  both,  asks  to 
have  his  lease  renewed ;  the  steward 
answers,  '  he  will  speak  to  his  mas- 
ter.' Seventeen  years  have  elapsed ; 
the  landlord  sends  Solomon  word 
'  that  his  lease  is  forfeited,  because  he 
hath  not  renewed  and  paid  his  fines 
according  to  articles  ;'  and  now  they 
are  at  law  upon  this  admirable  case. 
It  is  Solomon's  great  happiness,  that 
when  he  acts  in  the  common  concerns 
of  life  against  common  sense  and 
reason,  he  values  himself  thereupon 
as  if  it  were  the  mark  of  great  ge- 
nius, above  little  regards  or  arts,  and 
that  his  thoughts  are  too  exalted  to 
descend  into  the  knowledge  of  vul- 
gar arrangement;  and  you  cannot 
make  him  a  greater  compliment  than 
by  telling  instances  to  the  company 
before  his  face,  how  careless  he  was 
in  any  affair  that  related  to  his  inter- 
est or  fortune." 

A  much  more  criminal  negligence 
of  trifles  is  practised  by  the  dashing 
dog,  or  real  good  fellow.  He  indeed 
glories  in  a  round  of  thoughtlessness, 
but  small  things  he  treats  with  sove- 
reign contempt.  It  is  late  in  the  day 
before  he  can  shake  off  the  effects  of 
his  last  night's  merrymaking.  He 
lounges  about  all  the  morning ;  time 
flies,  "  but,"  says  he,  "  the  old  boy 
travels  at  the  rate  of  only  sixty  se- 
conds a  minute — and  what  is  a  mi- 
nute?" Not  much:  but  when  noon 
arrives,  the  morning  has  vanished  in 


minutes.  He  takes  a  turn  abroad  to 
learn  the  news,  and  to  get  an  appe- 
tite for  dinner.  In  his  course  he 
looks  in  at  the  shops,  where  he  finds 
a  variety  of  commodities  for  use  and 
ornament :  he  buys  whatever  he  takes 
a  fancy  to,  without  considering  whe- 
ther he  has  occasion  for  it,  and  with- 
out once  troubling  himself  to  calcu- 
late the  total  cost  of  his  purchases, 
his  mind  being  much  too  generous 
to  take  an  account  of  petty  disburse- 
ments. He  receives  a  nod  of  recog- 
nition from  some  person  of  pleasant 
countenance  and  genteel  address, 
whom  he  may  remember  chatting 
with  in  some  mixed  company :  he  in- 
vites the  gentleman  to  dine  with  him. 
"  Another  and  another  quick  suc- 
ceeds," each  of  whom  being  sepa- 
rately invited,  makes  "  only  one  more," 
though  by  such  means  a  round  party 
is  punctually  assembled  at  his  dinner 
hour,  fully  prepared  to  enter  upon 
the  discussion  of  anticipated  luxuries. 
If  his  larder  is  well  enough  stocked 
to  realize  their  expectations,  things 
pass  oft'  smoothly ;  if  not,  the  whole 
house  is  in  uproar.  The  mistress 
remonstrates;  the  servants  are  dis- 
patched in  all  directions  for  provi- 
sions; the  cook  is  confounded  with  a 
multiplicity  of  orders,  and  dismayed 
at  the  impossibility  of  fulfilling  them. 
The  roaring  of  the  fire,  the  clank  of 
jack-chains,  of  stewpans  and  sauce- 
pans, is  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
in  the  drawing-room;  whither  also 
the  fumes  of  preparing  viands  slowly 
ascend,  like  the  incense  from  hea- 
then sacrifices,  to  appease  the  impa- 
tient beings  above,  and  to  give  an 
endurable  savour  to  the  protestations 
and  apologies  of  the  author  of  so 
much  confusion  and  disappointment. 
However,  all  disagreeables  give  way 
when  dinner  is  announced,  as  that 


TRIFLES. 


S3] 


in  its  turn  gives  way  to  the  hungry 
company;  and  the  good  fellow,  being 
once  more  over  his  wine,  and  sur- 
rounded by  choice  spirits,  "  is  him- 
self again."  Notwithstanding  the  vow 
he  makes  over  every  glass  or  bottle, 
to  take  "  only  one  more,"  it  will  some- 
times happen  that  in  the  course  of 
the  hour  his  prudence  abates  a  little 
of  its  coolness.  He  considers  him- 
self bound,  as  a  man  of  spirit,  to  pro- 
vide for  the  amusement  of  his  visitors. 
What  so  innocent  as  a  hand  of  cards? 
But  he  forswears  gambling;  there- 
fore he  insists  that  they  begin  with 
small  stakes.  To  be  sure  a  trifling 
addition  at  the  end  of  every  game  is 
quite  unavoidable;  and  if  he  loses  a 
considerable  sum,  he  is  totally  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  it:  he  suspects  foul 
play,  and  now  for  the  first  time  he 
would  fain  inquire  into  the  charac- 
ter of  his  associates. 

Nothing  can  be  more  difficult  than 
to  decide  what  things  may  with  pro- 
priety be  termed  trifles.  The  great- 
est events  in  history,  those  which 
have  shaken  thrones  and  rent  em- 
pires asunder,  may  be  traced  to  cir- 
cumstances comparatively  minute, 
and  memorable  only  in  their  vast  and 
unalterable  consequences.  But  al- 
though nothing  ought  to  be  over- 
looked merely  because  it  may  be 
called  a  trifle,  too  much  solicitude 
about  things  of  acknowledged  insig- 
nificance is  equally  ridiculous  and 
prejudicial.  It  contracts  the  mind, 
and  filling  it  with  petty  griefs  and 
anxieties,  leaves  no  room  for  enlarg- 
ed conceptions,  or  for  liberal  enjoy- 
ments; at  the  same  time  that  it  ren-  ] 
ders  those  who  indulge  in  it,  even 
more  contemptible  than  the  objects  j 
they  are  employed  upon.  If  you  ! 
meet  one  of  this  cast — Mat.  Minimy  ; 
for    example — he    approaches    you 


with  a  dejected  air,  and  seems  as 
much  oppressed  with  weighty  cares 
as  a  minister  of  state.  You  natu- 
rally ask  what  calamity  has  befallen 
him.     "  Alas !"   says   he,    "  I    have 

lost "— "  Your  sister?"—"  Oh, 

no !  one  of  my  gloves,  and  I  dangle 
the  relict  about  in  vexation,  ready  to 
throw  it  away  when  I  think  how  use- 
less it  is  without  its  fellow.  Besides 
that,  I've  a  great  deal  upon  my  mind 
at  this  time.  I'm  preparing  to  leave 
town  to  spend  my  Christmas  in  the 
country.  Now  as  '  delays  are  dan- 
gerous,' about  a  fortnight  before  my 
departure  I  s  ind  for  the  tailor,  and 
order  what  I  stand  in  need  of,  so  as 
to  allow  time  for  sending  the  clothes 
backwards  and  forwards  to  be  al- 
tered and  corrected.  Happily  for 
me,  the  man  I  employ  at  present  is 
tolerably  skilful;  I  seldom  have  to 
send  them  back  more  than  four  times. 
I  have  latterly  adopted  the  plan  of 
standing  between  two  looking-glasses 
to  fit  them  on,  in  order  that  I  may 
see  what  creases  are  likely  to  be 
made  in  those  attitudes  and  positions 
which  I  am  most  given  to.  For  my 
rascal,  Peter — you  remember  Peter 
— sir,  you'll  hardly  believe  what  I'm 
going  to  tell  you,  but  I  have  strong 
reasons  to  suspect  that  that  fellow 
was  in  the  pay  of  my  former  tailor, 
and  used  to  say  I  was  fitted,  when 
the  contrary  was  the  fact.  Sir,  I 
have  found  wrinkles  in  my  old  coats 
in  which  you  might  have  inserted  a 
straw — aye,  sir,  a  barley-straw — and 
those  very  coats  the  rascally  Peter 
has  told  me  to  my  face  fitted  as  if 
they  had  been  pasted  to  my  back. 
Then,  sir,  come  the  laundress's  bills 
to  be  compared  with  my  filed  lists 
of  linen  delivered :  the  charges  re- 
quire to  be  investigated,  and  the  ad- 
ditions to  be  carefully  checked;  for 


ooi 


ORIENTAL    FIDELITY    AND    LOVE. 


I  once  detected  one  of  this  sister- 
hood in  an  attempt  to  cheat  me  out  of 
threepence-halfpenny  and  a  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Next  follows  the  bu- 
siness of  packing.  In  early  life  I 
bundled  the  things  in  any  how,  or 
left  it  to  my  man:  but  experientia 
docet:  I  suffered  deeply  from  the  ill 
effects  of  this  incautious  system,  my 
neckcloths  turning  out  as  rumpled  as 
a  waiter's  napkin;  and  I  am  quite 
satisfied  that  the  only  reason  for  my 
rejection  by  the  Lady  Betty  Smooth- 
ly was,  that  I  paid  my  addresses  to 
her  in  one  of  those  unfortunate  neck- 
cloths. But  my  present  plan  is  this : 
I  double  each  article  in  the  largest 
number  of  folds  it  seems  capable  of 
sustaining  without  damage;  I  then 
take  its  dimensions  every  way ;  these 
being  squared,  according  to  the  prin- 
ciples in  the  second  book  of  Euclid, 
gave  me  the  quantity  of  space  requi- 
site for  the  accommodation  of  the 
whole.  I  then  calculate  the  capaci- 
ties of  my  trunks,  and  regulate  my 
proceedings  accordingly.  In  the  next 
place,  I  go  about  to  the  livery-stables 
in  quest  of  the  best  postchaises  at  the 
cheapest  rate.  I  examine  the  linings, 
to  see  whether  they  are  dusty;  and 
I  try  the  springs  for  the  sake  of  my 
ease,  and  the  linchpins  for  my  secu- 
rity. At  length,  when  all  is  ready 
for  starting,  I  never  get  a  wink  of 
sleep  the  last  night  of  my  stay  in 
town,  for  fear  of  being  too  late  in  the 
morning." 

It  would  be  an  injustice  to  pass 
over  the  useful  parts  of  Mr.  Mini- 
my's  character.  He  is  perfectly  com- 


petent to  direct  one  to  the  best  boot- 
makers and  hatters  in  the  town ;  he 
knows  where  the  best  wines  can  be 
procured,  and  where  the  most  ele- 
gant turn  can  be  imparted  to  the 
whiskers.  I  always  resort  to  him  as 
a  fit  tribunal  for  deciding  between 
the  silks  of  India  and  Spitalfields, 
and  also  for  settling  questions  of  pre- 
cedence and  etiquette.  He  is  ex- 
ceedingly well  read  in  the  chronicles 
of  nobility ;  can  remember  the  maiden 
name  or  title  of  married  peeresses, 
and  the  dress  in  which  they  were 
first  presented  at  court.  Indeed  his 
knowledge  in  such  matters  is  so  pro- 
found, that  he  can  inform  you  what 
many  noble  lords  were  before  their 
creation.  He  has  also  some  preten- 
sions to  the  literary  character,  having 
been  long  engaged  upon  a  truly  ela- 
borate work,  to  be  entitled  "  A  Trea- 
tise on  the  Dissection  of  Pies,  where_ 
in  the  present  method  is  cut  up 
somewhat  tartly,  and  several  cases  of 
gross  injustice  are  cited,  by  which 
the  author  hath  been  sorely  ag- 
grieved. With  an  appendix,  contain- 
ing practical  directions  for  a  fair  dis- 
tribution or  apportionment  of  crust 
and  fruit."  Whether  this  composi- 
tion will  ever  be  presented  to  the 
public,  I  shall  not  take  upon  me  to 
predict :  thus  much  I  will  venture  to 
assert,  that  the  lives  of  Mat.  Minimy 
and  some  others  continually  present 
so  many  commentaries  on  that  say- 
ing: of  Attilius's  :  "  It  is  better  to  have 
nothing  to  do  than  to  be  doing  no- 
thing." 


ORIENTAL  FIDELITY  AND  LOVE. 


The  name  of  General  Goddard 
will  live  in  the  recollection  of  all  who 
are  acquainted  with  the  history  of 


East  Indian  warfare.  This  officer 
signalized  himself  by  a  forced  march 
from  Bengal,  through  the  Bherar,  to 


ON    PREPOSSESSIONS   IN    FAVOUR    OF    NAMES. 


Guzzerat,  which  province  he  reduced 
by  his  valour  and  conduct.  He  had 
previously  married  a  Hindoo  lady  of 
high  rank  and  uncommon  beauty, 
with  whom  he  lived  in  the  most  per- 
fect harmony,  and  she  brought  him 
a  large  family  of  very  promising 
children.  The  general  tenderly  loved 
her,  and  wishing  to  support  her  he- 
reditary claims  to  distinction,  pre- 
sented her  with  many  valuable  gems 
to  adorn  her  dress.  In  the  course 
of  some  years  the  general's  affairs 
were  embarrassed:  his  lady  observed 
that  his  mind  appeared  to  labour  un- 
der some  secret  affliction:  she  en- 
treated him  to  let  her  participate  the 
load ;  perhaps  she  might  sooth,  if 
she  could  not  relieve  his  distress. 
He  acknowledged  his  pecuniary  in- 
volvements; and  saying  she  suspected 
such  was  the  case,  she  produced  her 
jewels. 

"  These,"  she  continued,  "  were 
given  to  me  by  the  best  of  men  while 
he  could  afford  the  gift:  they  are  of 
no  value  to  me  since  he  is  a  prey  to 
anxiety:  allow  me  to  sacrifice  them 
to  his  happiness,  and  his  happiness 
is  mine."  The  jewels  produced  thirty 


thousand  rupees ;  that  sum  relieved 
all  urgent  claims,  and  prosperity  re- 
warded the  happy  pair. 

General  Goddard  wished  to  intro- 
duce his  lady  to  British  society;  but 
faithful  to  the  principles  of  her  coun- 
try, she  said,  "  You  only  have  seen 
me,  no  other  man  can  have  that  pri- 
vilege." 

When  General  Goddard  went  on 
the  Guzzerat  expedition,  he  wished 
his  lady  and  family  to  meet  him  at 
Bombay.  They  embarked  at  Cal- 
cutta; but  the  vessel  perished  with . 
all  her  passengers.  Their  fate  re- 
mains unknown.  General  Goddard 
died  at  Falmouth  soon  after  his  ar- 
rival from  India.  His  fortune  de- 
volved to  Lady  James,  wife  of  Sir 
William  James,  some  time  chairman 
of  the  East  India  Company,  and 
grandfather  to  the  present  Lord 
Rancliffe.  Sir  William  James  had 
been  naval  commander-in-chief  at 
Bombay,  and  took  the  fortress  of 
Sevendroog  from  the  pirates  of  the 
Malabar  coast ;  in  memory  of  which, 
his  widow  built  the  castle  on  Shooter's 
Hill,  in  Kent,  bearing  the  name  of 
Sevendrooa:. 


ON   SHANDEAN   PREPOSSESSIONS  IN  FAVOUR 
CERTAIN  BAPTISMAL  NAMES. 

TO  THE  EDITOR. 


OF 


Sin, 

Having  in  my  own  person 
experienced  the  consequences  of  a 
prepossession  in  favour  of  peculiar 
names,  I  beg  to  claim  your  attention 
to  this  subject. 

Although  few  persons  are  weak 
enough  to  believe  with  Mr.  Shandy, 
that  all  or  any  of  the  qualities  of  a 
favourite  hero  or  heroine  can  be 
communicated  with  the  name,  many 
parents    are  careless   in  conferring 


such  names  on  their  children  as  seem 
harmonious  or  sonorous,  without  ad- 
verting to  the  casual  or  natural  oc- 
currences which  may  render  them 
ridiculously  inapplicable  to  their 
owner. 

As  baptismal  names  are  generally 
fixed  in  infancy,  or  very  early  life,  it 
is  impossible  to  ascertain  the  indeli- 
ble character  which  nature  may  have 
given  to  the  mind  or  the  physical 
powers  of  the  body.     How  then  can 


334 


ON    PREPOSSESSIONS   IN    FAVOUR   OF   NAMRS. 


those  qualifications  be  commanded 
which  ought  to  concur  in  the  cha- 
racter of  those  who  are  designated 
by  the  expressive  names  of  celebrat- 
ed persons?  Parents,  nevertheless, 
by  the  thoughtless  adoption  of  such 
appellations,  frequently  prepare  for 
themselves  and  their  offspring  an  in- 
finite source  of  vexation  and  disap- 
pointment. Hence  we  have  cowardly 
Alexanders,  idiot  Sophias,  and  nar- 
row-souled  vulgar  beings  disgracing 
the  name  of  Augustus.  A  well-mean- 
ing tradesman  may  introduce  to  your 
notice  his  sons,  Scipio  Africanus  and 
Pomponius  Atticus,  and  the  poor 
children  may  pass  their  days  peace- 
fully behind  their  father's  counter, 
happy  if  no  kind  friend  informs  them 
that  the  second  at  least  of  their 
beautiful  names  implies  local  or  vir- 
tual causes,  which  they  can  never 
recal  but  in  the  most  vexatious  satire 
on  their  own  insignificance. 

As  example  is  said  to  be  more  ef- 
ficacious than  precept,  I  offer  my 
own  history  to  illustrate  and  explain 
the  serious  and  ludicrous  causes 
which  have  operated  on  me  as  an  in- 
dividual, to  warn  others  against  a 
system  of  which  I  am  a  living  witness 
and  victim. 

I  am  the  son  of  a  country  school- 
master, a  man  of  the  best  intentions, 
but  of  weak  judgment,  who,  having 
received  his  education  and  a  college 
exhibition  from  Christ's  Hospital, 
attained  academic  degrees.  Through 
the  patronage  of  an  idle  student  of 
fortune,  whose  scholastic  exercises 
my  father  performed,  he  obtained  a 
curacy,  which,  after  some  time,  he 
resigned,  not  consenting  to  perform 
the  duty  of  three  parishes  for  thirty 
pounds  per  annum.  He  was  now  a 
married  man.  He  had  translated 
Virgil's  Bucolics,  and  read  them  to 


my  mother,  a  farmer's  daughter,  who 
thought  them  vastly  pretty  verses; 
and  he  married  her,  to  have  an  ad- 
miring auditor  in  his  shepherdess. 
His  patron  and  his  rector  both  agreed 
that  he  was  a  living  monument  of  in- 
gratitude, and  they  abandoned  him 
to  the  fate  which  they  said  he  de- 
served. 

After  much  suffering,  he  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  be  appointed  to 
the  mastership  of  a  free  school,  and 
he  soon  reconciled  himself  to  an  em- 
ployment, which,  being  classical,  was 
consonant  to  his  taste,  all  his  pas- 
sions being  concentrated  in  the  study 
of  ancient  literature.  Unluckily  the 
frequent  readings  of  Livy,  Xenophon, 
and  Tacitus  revived  a  prepossession 
which  he  had  always  cherished  for 
perpetuating  the  names  of  the  great 
men  these  authors  have  immortal- 
ized ;  and  he  flattered  himself  that, 
with  the  name,  his  eldest  son  would 
receive  the  virtues  of  his  favourite 
Epaminondas.  My  mother  thought 
it  was  a  terrible  hard  name,  but  se- 
cretly determined  to  call  him  Pammy 
on  all  common  occasions,  and  my 
father  engaged  to  pronounce  the 
word  for  her  when  the  child  was  pre- 
sented at  the  font.  But  his  scheme 
was  defeated  in  his  eldest  son's  des- 
tiny. My  grandfather,  a  stout  York- 
shire farmer,  was  invited  to  the  chris- 
tening. He  offered  to  stand  sponsor, 
but  on  condition  that  the  boy  should 
have  no  such  heathenish  name,  but 
his  own ;  and  as  my  father  thought 
his  child's  worldly  interest  might  be 
endangered  if  he  offended  the  only 
man  of  his  family  who  could  leave 
them  any  thing,  he  yielded,  and  with 
a  groan  of  acquiescence  repeated  the 
name  of  Giles.  After  closing  his 
books  in  despair,  none  of  which  pre- 
sented to  his  searching  eye  the  re- 


ON    PREPOSSESSIONS   IN   FAVOUR   OF   NAMES. 


335 


cord  of  a  hero  or  a  worthy  of  the 
name  of  Giles. 

The  two  next  children  were  twin 
girls:  my  grandfather  did  not  care 
about  girls  ;  it  did  not  signify  he  said 
what  foolish  names  girls  had :  if  they 
could  make  a  pudding,  a  cheese,  and 
a  shirt,   he   should  like   them  well 
enough.     Now  then,  thought  my  fa- 
ther, I  may  indulge  myself,  and  my 
admiration  of  the  two  first  states  in 
the  world  be  evinced. '  Owing  to  this 
classical  mania,  my  unfortunate  sis- 
ters received  the  names  of  Lacedae- 
monia  and  Athena?.     Alas!  Nature 
herself  seemed  a  conspirator  against 
my  father's  wishes.     Lac//,   as   my 
mother  complacently  called  her,  talk- 
ed incessantly,  was  vei*y  fond  of  fi- 
nery, was  an  incorrigible  glutton,  and 
never  could  bear  the  slightest  degree 
of  pain  without  screams  and   tears. 
My  sister  Athenae  stammered  horri- 
bly :  in  vain  my  father  repeated  and 
urged  a  trial  of  the  various  methods 
which  are  said  to  have  succeeded  with 
Demosthenes  in  a  similar  case.     My 
mother  said  it  was  a  very  odd  way 
of  making  people  speak  plainly,   to 
put  stones  in  their  mouths  and  give 
them  hard  words  to  pronounce.     My 
sister  could  neither  remember  nor  ar- 
ticulate even  the  first  sentences  of  the 
fine  orations  she  was  compelled  to 
hear  read. 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  or  enu- 
merate the  various  vexations  to  which 
both  my  father  and  sisters  were  sub- 
jected by  this  unhappy  mania.  The 
schoolboys  were  incessantly  and  iro- 
nically repeating  their  ill  -  applied 
names.  The  village-girls,  who  did 
not  recollect  or  understand  how  in- 
nocent they  were  of  the  learning 
which  their  hard  names  and  suppos- 
ed education  implied,  derided  them 
Vol.  II.  No.  XII. 


because  they  learned  with  the  boys 
and  talked  Latin.  My  mother,  by 
her  abreviations  of  Atty  and  Lacy, 
left  not  even  the  sonorous  termina- 
tions to  console  the  ear. 

My  father,  like  many  other  system- 
mongers,  attributed  the  failure  of  his 
hypothesis  to  every  possible  and  im- 
possible cause,  without  dreaming  of 
the  fallacy  of  his  own  measures.  He 
assured  my  mother,  that  if  she  had 
studied  with  the  girls,  talked  less  of 
poultry,  pigs,  and  cheeses,  or  had 
pronounced  her  daughters'  names 
properly,  they  would  have  become 
all  he  wished.  His  anger  sometimes 
silenced  his  scholars,  but  they  aveng- 
ed themselves  in  his  absence  by  a  dou- 
ble portion  of  insult  to  their  victims, 
who  felt  only  horror  and  detestation 
of  those  names  which  seemed  to 
them  to  concentrate  every  degree  of 
suffering ;  the  tears  they  shed  in  their 
own  little  garret  being  the  only  At- 
tic salt  of  which  they  ever  tasted. 

I  was  the  last  of  the  family.     My 
father,  not  cured  of  his  mania,  thought 
he  would  be  cautious  how  he  induls- 
ed  it  by  consulting  the  promises  of 
nature  in  my  formation.    My  athletic 
and   muscular   limbs   promised   the 
strength   of  a   gladiator.     Here   at 
least,  thought  my  father,  I  cannot  be 
deceived.     My  child's  intellect  is  not 
developed,  and  may  disappoint  my 
hopes ;  and  as  Nature  will  not  be  en- 
tirely controverted,  I  will  follow  her 
indications.     The  boy's  corporeal  vi- 
gour ij>  manifest;  I  will  name  him 
Milo.     After   a   long  argument,  in 
which  he  at  length  convinced  my  mo- 
ther that  Milo  was  at  least  as  short 
as  Milly,  she  consented  not  to  spoil 
the  charm  by  altering  my  name;  but 
unfortunately  she  heard  so  much  of 
my  natural  strength,  that  she  spared 
Y  Y 


3;>6 


ON    PREPOSSESSIONS   IN    FAVOUR,   OF    NAMES. 


herself  the  trouble  of  nursing  such  a 
stout  healthy  boy.  She  trusted  me 
to  my  own  legs,  and  in  two  years  I 
was  a  confirmed  cripple  in  the  rick- 
ets. From  this  neglect  in  infancy, 
my  health  and  personal  appearance 
were  ever  after  materially  inj  ured;  and 
this  final  experiment  completely  un- 
deceived my  poor  father,  destroying 
at  once  his  system  and  his  comfort. 
Too  late  he  lamented  his  error,  and 
by  his  patient  and  attentive  kindness, 
he  tried  to  alleviate  my  sufferings. 

Denied  by  ill  health  the  active 
amusements  of  other  boys,  I  became 
sedentary,  studious,  and  melancholy; 
but,  being  mild  and  inoffensive,  I  was 
glad  to  purchase  peace  and  forbear- 
ance from  the  more  lively  of  my 
school-mates,  by  writing  the  exercises 
of  the  idle  or  the  impetuous.  En- 
deared to  my  father  by  coincidence 
of  taste  and  the  misfortune  which 
he  thought  he  had  occasioned,  I  was 
soon  qualified  for  his  principal  assist- 
ant; and  if,  in  the  class-reading,  a 
boy  glanced  at  my  distorted  joints 
and  pale  face  as  he  repeated  the 
feats  of  Milo,  his  compassion  for- 
bade his  more  openly  pointing  the 
satire. 

Having  perused  this  history,  you 
will  forgive  the  earnestness  which 
dictated  my  application  to  you,  Mr. 
Editor;  and  you  will  admit,  that  some, 
if  not  ail,  the  consequences  I  have 
experienced  may  arise  from  the  adop- 
tion of  what  may  be  styled  noms  par- 
Ian  s  :  yet,  when  appropriate,  or  con- 
ferred after  maturity,  as  in  the  sect  of 
Anabaptists,  these  names  may  be  in- 
dicative of  such  talents,  virtues,  or 
qualities  as  their  owners  possess.  Let 
hardy  and  intrepid  sailors  illustrate 
the  name  and  achivements  of  Nelson 
in  the  Victory.  Seamen  are  frequent- 


ly superstitiously  affected  by  names, 
and  they  perhaps  would  feel  depress- 
ed in  the  frigate  called  the  Storm, 
who  conquered  in  the  Audacious, 
the  Glory,  or  the  Invincible.  Let 
their  very  weaknesses  be  indulged. 
If  they  place  confidence  in  the  sound 
of  the  Albion,  the  Wellington,  the 
Royal  George,  they  will  struggle  to 
make  these  ships  as  invincible  as  they 
think  them.  Let  Master  Meanwell 
and  Miss  Goodchild  shine  in  gilded 
history  books;  but  I  cannot  but  think 
these  characteristic  names  degrade 
die  higher  classes  of  literature.  Can 
we  feel  much  interested  in  reading 
the  correspondence  of  Sir  Charles 
Freewill  and  Lord  Flutter,  or  Miss- 
Flora  Flirtwell  and  Miss  Lucinda 
Lackwit?  Yet  a  modern  and  justly 
admired  writer  has  given  names  near- 
ly as  strongly  declarative  of  the  cha- 
racters of  her  principal  personages. 

In  the  drama  alone  I  approve  of 
this  anticipation  of  character.  When 
the  time  of  representation  does  not 
always  afford  an  opportunity  for  the 
perfect  development  of  peculiarity, 
and  when  few  of  the  audience  can 
discriminate  every  nice  touch,  Sir 
Antony  .Absolute  prepares  them  for 
an  irritable,  and  Lydia  Languish  for  a 
romantic  and  sentimental  personage'. 

Thus,  sir,  while  I  condemn  the  ob- 
stinate adoption  of  any  system,  when 
contrary  to  good  sense  or  the  dic- 
tates of  natural  reason,  I  think  many 
useful  ideas  may  be  drawn  from  a  ju- 
dicious use  of  the  hints  they  may 
suggest;  and  that  my  story  may  be 
productive  of  some  benefit  materially 
or  individually,  is  my  wish,  and  will 
be  my  consolation  for  the  calamities 
which  were  occasioned  by  my  name 
of  Milo  Wilkins. 


337 


ROYAL  AND  LOYAL  HOLIDAY  ENTERTAINMENT. 


Charles  I.  succeeded  to  the  crown, 
and  married  Henrietta  of  France  in 
1626  ;  was  crowned  at  Edinburgh  in 
looNJ;  and  that  year,  about  All-Hal- 
low tide,  the  principal  members  of 
the  four  Inns  of  Court  proposed  to 
join  in  testifying  their  loyal  duty  to 
the  king  and  queen,  by  a  splendid 
masque  for  their  entertainment.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  preparations  were 
nearly  completed,  Hyde  and  White- 
look  were  deputed  to  the  lord 
chamberlain,  the  Earl  of  Pembroke 
and  Montgomery,  and  to  Sir  Henry 
Vane,  the  comptroller  of  the  king's 
household,  to  make  arrangements  in 
the  Banqueting-House.  The  scenery 
was  painted  by  Inigo  Jones.  The 
grand  maskers  were  four  gentlemen 
of  each  Inn  of  Court,  most  accom- 
plished in  personal  and  graceful  dis- 
tinctions, and  most  capable  for  danc- 
ing. They  were  drawn  in  four  rich 
chariots,  six  horses  in  each.  The 
first  that  marched  in  the  procession 
were  twenty-four  footmen  in  scarlet 
liveries  with  silver  lace,  each  having 
a  sword  by  his  side,  a  batoon  in  one 
hand,  and  a  torch  in  the  other.  These 
were  the  marshals  men,  clearing  the 
way  for  him,  and  waiting  his  com- 
mands. This  gallant  show  was  on 
Candlemas-night,  to  finish  the  Christ- 
mas holidays. 

After  the  marshal's  men  came  Mr. 
Darrel,  afterwards  knighted  by  the 
king ;  he  was  mounted  upon  one  of 
the  king's  best  horses  and  richest 
saddles,  his  own  habit  being  superbly 
magnificent:  two  lacqueys  carried 
torches  before  him,  and  a  page  in 
livery  behind  carried  his  cloak. 

Next  followed  one  hundred  gen- 
tlemen, five  and  twenty  chosen  from 
each  house,  for  the  most  handsome 


and  high  bred  in  their  societies. 
They  were  all  gallantly  mounted  on 
fine  horses,  with  housings  glittering 
in  the  torch-light. 

After  the  horsemen  appeared  the 
anti-maskers;  and  as  the  maskers 
were  preceded  by  a  dozen  of  the 
best  trumpets,  the  anti  -  maskers, 
cripples  and  beggars  on  horseback, 
had  suitable  music,  keys  and  tongs 
rattling  on  all  sides ;  but  their  miser- 
able, jaded,  foundered  horses  were 
too  sorry  to  be  disquieted  or  set  to 
prancing  by  the  noise.  The  beggars 
were  followed  by  anti-masks  playing 
upon  pipes,  whistles,  and  imitating 
the  call  of  birds. 

Next  came  little  boys  put  into  co- 
vers of  the  shape  of  birds,  and  re- 
presenting an  owl  in  an  ivy-bush, 
and  several  other  birds  around  her. 
The  boys  personatingfeathered  mask- 
ers were  mounted  on  little  horses, 
and  footmen  bearing  torches  attended 
them. 

Musicians  on  horseback,  playing 
on  bagpipes  and  all  kinds  of  north- 
ern music,  came  in  the  train  of  a  pro- 
jector, riding  a  small  horse,  with  a 
great  bit  in  his  mouth ;  and  upon 
the  man's  head  Mas  a  bit,  with  reins 
and  head-stalls  fastened.  Another 
projector  begged  for  a  patent  to  feed 
capons  with  carrots. 

We  need  give  no  further  specimen 
of  these  puerilities ;  but  they  are  re- 
markable on  account  of  shewing  the 
progress  of  mind  in  the  course  of  two 
centuries.  In  our  day  such  a  pro- 
cession would  be  hardly  well  received 
by  the  rabble  of  London.  At  that 
period  it  was  accepted  as  a  royal  and 
courtly  entertainment.  Rrugh,  in  his 
Anecdotes  of  Music,  has  described  it 
at  large,  and  he  concludes  thus: 
Y  y  2 


338 


ON    EXTERNAL   INDICATIONS   OF    CHARACTER. 


"  The  king  and  queen  stood  at  a 
window  looking  straight  forward  to 
the  street,  to  see  the  masque  go  by ; 
and  being  delighted  with  the  noble 
bravery  of  it,  they  sent  to  the  mar- 
shal, to  desire  that  the  whole  show 
might  take  a  turn  about  the  tilt-yard, 


that  their  majesties  might  have  a 
double  view  of  them."  Brugh  after- 
wards tells  us,  that  the  queen  desir- 
ed to  see  the  solemnities  acted  over 
again.  The  clothes  of  the  horse- 
men for  one  item  cost  ten  thousand 
pounds. 


ON  EXTERNAL  INDICATIONS  OF  CHARACTER. 
TO  THE  EDITOR. 


Sir, 

I  am  no  physiognomist;  I  am 
no  craniologist ;  I  have  no  faith  in 
the  systems  either  of  Lavater  or  of 
Spurzheim.  I  do  not  believe  that 
the  formation  of  the  features  of  the 
face,  or  the  construction  of  the  cra- 
nium, is  at  all  indicative  of  the  human 
character.  But  I  do  believe  that 
the  countenance  will  in  time  acquire 
a  certain  character  according  to  the 
long-practised  habits  of  the  mind, 
and  that  the  tone  of  the  features  will 
indicate  the  disposition  and  prevail- 
ing passions  of  the  man;  also  that 
the  gait,  carriage,  and  common  atti- 
tudes will  bear  relation  to  the  habits 
both  of  the  mind  and  body. 

The  passions  we  know  are  natural- 
ly expressed  in  the  countenance ;  and 
this  expression  must  be  conveyed  by 
a  movement  of  particular  muscles  of 
the  face.  The  more  these  muscles 
are  brought  into  action,  the  stronger 
will  be  their  lines;  and  thus  a  certain 
character  will  in  time  be  imprinted 
on  the  face,  according  to  the  preva- 
lence of  particular  passions.  A  si- 
lent or  a  talkative  person  may  also 
be  distinguished  by  the  same  means. 
In  one  the  muscles  about  the  mouth 
will  appear  smooth  and  faintly  deli- 
neated; in  the  other  they  will  be 
more  strongly  marked;  and  for  this 
reason,  those  languages  which  re- 
quire more  than  others  the  movement 


of  the  lips,  will  cause  the  correspond- 
ing muscles  to  be  the  most  defined. 
For  instance,  a  Frenchman  past  the 
age  of  forty  is  sure  to  have  the  lines 
about  the  organ  of  speech  strongly 
delineated. 

Now  with  respect  to  the  gait,  car- 
riage, and  attitudes,  every  one  will 
admit,  that  they  bear  some  relation 
to  the  disposition  of  a  man,  or  more 
properly  speaking,  to  the  habits  and 
impulses  of  his  mind ;  but  it  is  on  the 
last  I  would  particularly  dwell,  as 
being,  in  my  opinion,  more  indicative 
of  the  character  than  either  of  the 
former.  I  conceive  the  prominent 
feature  in  the  disposition  of  a  man 
may  be  pronounced  upon  by  the  at- 
titude he  commonly  assumes.  Thus, 
if  a  man's  prevailing  habit  be  that  of 
intense  thought,  his  common  attitude 
will  be  such  as  he  would  naturally 
throw  himself  into  were  his  mind  en- 
gaged in  thinking ;  for  this  posture, 
as  being  the  most  practised,  becomes 
the  most  familiar  to  his  body,  and  he 
will  naturally  fall  into  it  even  when 
his  mind  is  disengaged  from  its  usual 
habit.  This  attitude  will  be  such, 
that  every  muscle  of  the  frame  may 
be  in  complete  repose,  and  nothing 
be  at  work  but  the  brain.  Our  arch 
enemy,  now  no  more,  was  a  strong  in- 
stance in  confirmation  of  what  I  have 
advanced  :  his  ordinary  posture  was 
such  as  I  have  described ;  and  who 


ON    EXTERNAL   INDICATIONS   OF   CHARACTER* 


3,39 


can  say  that  his  was  not  a  profound 
mind  ?  On  the  same  principles,  when 
a  person  is  not  in  the  habit  of  think- 
ing much,  there  will  be  generally 
something  constrained  in  his  common 
attitude,  something  indicating  that 
some  faculty  besides  that  of  thought 
is  usually  predominant.  His  attitudes 
will  therefore  commonly  bear  relation 
to  external  objects,  with  which,  it  is 
probable,  his  mind  is  mostly  engag- 
ed. If  vain  of  his  person,  his  usual 
posture  will  be  that  which  he  thinks 
most  favourable  for  its  display.  If 
of  a  vacant  mind,  and  accustomed 
to  "  whistle  for  want  of  thought," 
his  common  habit  will  probably  be 
that  of  dangling  his  watch-keys,  or 
picking  his  teeth ;  and  these  postures 
and  habits  he  will  naturally  assume 
even  in  those  moments  when  the  mind, 
being  wholly  engaged  in  thought, 
pays  no  regard  to  external  objects. 
In  this  manner  the  different  profes- 
sions of  persons  may  often  be  dis- 
tinguished ;  for  the  habits  incident  to 
their  calling,  when  long  practised, 
will  imprint  a  peculiar  character  on 
the  externals  of  each. 

For  the  above  reasons  most  people 
are,  without  being  conscious  of  it, 
judges  of  strongly  marked  charac- 
ters ;  i.  e.  they  can  easily  distinguish 
two  persons  of  opposite  characters 
and  habits:  for  instance,   they  can 
tell   a   philosopher   from   a   fool ;  a 
great  captain  from  a  martinet;    an 
eminent  statesman  from  a  cobbler ;  a 
Greenwich  from  a  Chelsea  pensioner, 
and  so  on.     But  I  aspire  to  some-  j 
thing  more.  There  are  few  instances 
in  which  I  cannot  guess  the  charac-  \ 
ter  of  a  man  and  Ins  situation  in  life ;  ; 
but  it  is  on  the  latter  I  pique  myself 
more  particularly,  and   in   which    1 1 
delight  to  speculate.     But  the  object 
must  be  past  the  age  of  forty ;  for  I 


do  not  conceive  that  much  before 
that  age  the  features  can  have  settled 
into  their  peculiar  cast,  derived  only 
from  long  -  practised  habits.  No 
doubt  there  are  persons  who  will  baf- 
fle my  skill  in  this  particular;  for  how 
could  I  pretend  to  tell  the  vocation 
of  a  person  who  has  never  practised 
in  his  profession?  of  a  soldier  who 
has  scarcely  ever  joined  a  regiment? 
of  a  tradesman  who  has  never  been 
behind  his  counter?  of  a  lawyer  who 
has  never  held  a  brief?  or  of  a  man 
in  the  situation  of  a  gentleman  who 
has  constantly  associated  with,  and 
imitated  the  manners  and  customs  of 
those  beneath  him? 

Being,  Mr.  Editor,  an  idler  in 
every  sense  of  the  word,  I  take  plea- 
sure in  the  indulgence  and  practice 
of  this  my  only  talent;  and  for  this 
laudable  purpose  I  frequent  those 
places  of  public  resort  ycleped  iva- 
tering-places,  where  such  as  have 
either  time  or  money,  which  they  do 
not  know  what  to  do  with,  may  very 
easily  get  rid  of  both,  and  receive 
but  little  in  exchange.  There  I  am 
sure  to  meet  with  fresh  faces  every 
year,  and  the  same  set  of  features 
every  day,  so  as  to  afford  me  full 
scope  for  my  favourite  amusement 
and  study.  But  above  all,  I  delight 
in  such  places  as  Margate.  There 
I  love  to  post  myself  on  the  quay, 
and  to  witness  the  disgorgement  of 
the  steam-packet.  There,  taken  off 
her  guard,  Nature,  or  rather  her 
proxy,  Habit  (for  in  society  of  any 
kind  she  never  condescends  to  appear 
in  propria  persona),  sports  in  endless 
variety  and  luxuriance.  There  the 
cockney,  escaped  from  counter  and 
from  care,  cracks  jokes  and  sucks 
his  oranges,  till  the  mingled  juice  of 
eyes  and  fruit  flows  in  copious  streams 
down  his  chaps;  while  his  weaker- 


340 


ON    EXTERNAL    INDICATIONS    OF    CHARACTER. 


stomached  and  chap-fallen  compa- 
nion, the  object  of  his  merriment, 
has  his  primrose-coloured  visage  spun 
out  into  a  most  woeful  longitude,  the 
very  opposite  to  the  Norfolk-dufTin 
face  of  his  hard-hearted  tormentor. 
But  this  is  mere  recreation  to  me. 
Let  them  rest  till  they  have  put  them- 
selves into  order,  and  assumed  their 
nom  de  guerre,  with  all  the  conco- 
mitants of  airs,  'gaits,  looks,  and 
what  not.  Now  see  them  parading 
the  public  walks  with  all  the  conse- 
quence of  appearing  what  they  are 
not  (for  no  one  prides  himself  upon 
seeming  what  he  is).  It  is  there  I 
attack  my  game;  I  fix  my  scrutiniz- 
ing eyes  upon  them ;  I  dissect  the 
subject,  and  lay  it  open  to  my  view. 
It  is  there  I  can  discover  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Quid  at  a  glance,  although  his 
coat  be  as  far  removed  from  a  snuff 
colour  as  possible,  and  her  ambient 
air  as  far  from  the  fragrance  of  the 
shop  as  all  the  essences  can  make  it. 
It  is  there  that  Mr.  Deputy  Molasses 
and  his  cara  sposa  pass  in  review 
before  me  in  all  their  native  vulgarity, 
although  no  opportunity  should  have 
been  afforded  them  of  displaying  that 
interchange  of  places  which  the  v 
and  the  iv  have  thought  proper  to 
make  in  the  cockney  vocabulary. 
Nor  do  I  there  fail  to  recognise  Mr. 
Zachariah  Barebones,  although  di- 
vested of  his  black  gaiters,  for  one  of 
those  choice  spirit;  who  have  left  a 
creditable  handicraft  for  the  less  fa- 
tigue and  more  profitable  occupation 
of  driver  to  one  of  those  opposition 
vehicles  of  conscience,  where  the  sin- 
ner may  be  taken  to  heaven  for  half 
price,  the  fare  demanded  being  faith 
only,  without  the  usual  accompani- 
ment of  ivories. 

Stage-coaches  and  steam-boats  are 
also  my  delight.   Here  my  prevailing- 


taste  wallows  in  luxury.  It  can  feast 
upon  a  good  subject  from  London 
to  Manchester.  But  when  two  or 
more  prime  ones  get  together,  so  as 
to  set  each  other  off  to  advantage, 
without  the  necessity  of  my  exerting 
my  naturally  indolent  disposition, 
then,  indeed,  I  am  in  clover.  I  draw 
myself  up  in  the  corner,  and  enjoy 
the  scene  as  a  connoisseur  from  the 
back  of  his  stage-box.  My  bowels 
shake  convulsively  with  internal 
laughter.  To  see  the  brazen  and 
vulgar  upstart  preying  upon  his 
weaker,  but  not  less  vulgar  neigh- 
bour; to  see  him,  in  the  attempt  to 
expose  the  other's  infirmities,  dis- 
playing his  own  ill-nature  and  vul- 
garity in  all  their  deformity ;  to  see 
him  unconsciously  playing  himself 
before  me,  and  laying  himself  open 
to  that  chastisement  which  I  think  it 
fair  occasionally  to  inflict;  to  witness 
vanity  conspiring  with  ignorance  and 
vulgarity  to  expose  their  self-con- 
tented but  self-devoted  possessor  to 
ridicule  and  contempt;  to  listen  to 
shallow  pomposity  puffing  forth  the 
commonplace  and  the  stale  with  the 
importance  due  only  to,  but  never 
claimed  by,  genius  and  originality;  to 
hear  the  pert  jackal  of  the  law  re- 
tailing as  his  own  his  only  half-con- 
ceived scraps  of  barrister  wit,  or  fish- 
ing for  the  introduction  of  the  last- 
imported  bon-mot  from  the  bench  of 
a  sister  island,  where  wit,  instead  of 
wisdom,  holds  the  scale  of  justice, 
and  life  trembles  on  a  pun ;  to  see  the 
militia-captain  going  over  his  Penin- 
sular campaigns,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  folks:  in  short,  to  see  people 
trying  to  appear  what  they  are  not, 
but  fully  displaying  what  they  are; 
to  see  vanity  in  ail  its  stages,  ramifi- 
cations, and  operations,  is  to  me  a 
source  of  infinite  amusement. 


ON    EXTERNAL    INDICATIONS    OF    CHARACTER. 


341 


Vanity  in  combination  with  vul- 
garity forms  the  picturesque  in  cha- 
racter (if  I  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression), and  this  is  chiefly  to  be 
found  in  the  middle  classes  of  life. 
No  doubt  a  character  or  an  oddity 
are  always  picturesque  objects,  in 
whatever  situation  they  may  be  found. 
These  may  occasionally  be  met  with 
in  high  life,  and  often  among  the  stu- 
dious. But  it  is  not  there  I  would 
seek  the  true  picturesque.  A  polish- 
ed gentleman  would  be  as  bad  a  sub- 
ject for  the  fore-ground  of  a  scene, 
as  a  barouche  with  four  sleek  bays 
would  be  in  the  landscape  of  a  Claude 
Lorraine.  In  the  upper  classes,  fa- 
shion and  education  reduce  all  in  ex- 
ternal appearance  and  language  near- 
ly to  a  level,  while  the  polish  of  so- 
ciety prevents  the  workings  of  the 
mind  from  being  visible  either  in  the 
countenance  or  manner.  Here  the 
face,  instead  of  being  the  index,  be- 
comes the  mask  of  the  mind.  Nor 
is  it  among  the  lower  classes  I  would 
look  for  the  picturesque;  for,  the 
body  being  here  the  principal  agent 
in  the  business  of  life,  the  mind  has 
little  else  to  do  but  to  direct  the  ope- 
rations of  the  hand.  Thus  no  par- 
ticular character  will  be  imprinted  on 
the  features  or  manners.  Nature  is 
not  vulgar  in  the  sense  we  use  the 
word.  Adam,  I  conceive,  was  a  very 
gentlemanly  kind  of  man,  compared 
with  the  mass  of  his  descendants. 
In  the  lowest  class  we  find  brutality, 
but  not  vulgarity.  Here  we  may 
view  the  grotesque,  but  not  the  pic- 
turesque. While  education  tends  to 
improve  and  civilize  mankind,  labour, 
without  leisure  for  the  cultivation  of 
the  mind,  tends  to  brutalize  it;  and 
both  will  naturally  diverge  towards 
extremes.  Thus  we  may  account  for 
the  simultaneous  increase  of  civiliza- 


tion and  of  crime,  so  apparent  in  this 
country.  But  in  that  class  of  life 
where  the  body  is  but  slightly  em- 
ployed, and  the  mind  almost  wholly 
taken  up  in  professional  avocations  ; 
where  the  mind,  though  actively  em- 
ployed, is  tied  down  to  business,  so 
as  to  leave  no  time  either  for  reflec- 
tion or  study  in  polite  or  learned 
subjects;  but  where  recreation  is 
sought  in  free  social  intercourse,  un- 
restrained by  the  influence  of  fashion 
or  decorum,  there  vulgarity  will  na- 
turally be  generated,  and  increased 
by  the  contagion  of  uncultivated 
minds;  and  the  countenance  will  in 
time  obtain  a  peculiar  cast  from  the 
usual  train  of  thought,  and  habits  be 
acquired  according  to  the  profession 
of  a  person  or  the  society  he  has 
kept. 

Although  it  is  not  my  wish  to 
dwell  among  the  middle  classes,  yet 
I  delight  in  feasting  on  the  honest 
effusions  of  vulgarity  there  evinced, 
whether  in  sturdy  John  Bull  when 
he  looks  up  at  his  superior  as  a  mas- 
tiff would  at  a  jackdaw,  or  in  his  bet- 
ter half,  of  quite  the  opposite  charac- 
ter, aping  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  great,  as  it  were  catching  at 
high  life  with  greasy  fingers.  I  like 
occasionally  to  accept  the  hearty  in- 
vitations of  such  people,  and  to  feast 
on  themselves  as  well  as  on  the  good 
cheer  they  spread  before  me.  But 
I  keep  all  the  fun  to  myself,  for  I 
abominate  quizzing.  The  joke  goes 
between  my  head  and  my  heart;  all 
I  see  is  nuts  to  me,  but  these  nuts  I 
crack  in  silence.  I  am  even  so  par- 
ticular in  this  respect,  that  I  make  a 
point  of  never  visiting  my  female  ac- 
quaintance of  the  middle  class  in  the 
forenoon;  for  I  cannot  bear  to  witness 
the  blush  of  being  caught  in  curl-pa- 
pers, or  to  be  compelled  to  view  the 


142 


THE  INFANT  SHEPHERD  AND  POET. 


internal  flutter  and  assumed  compo- 
sure with  which  a  lying  excuse  is  de- 
livered to  account  for  the  delay  caus- 
ed by  a  change  of  dress. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  great  qua- 
lification of  that  inimitable  humorist, 
Matthews,  consists  in  his  talent  at 
hitting  off  what  is  picturesque  in  cha- 
racter. He  is  the  Hogarth  of  the 
histrionic  art.     I  would  sooner  see 


him  and  my  dear,  chastely  ludicrous 
Liston,  than  all  the  Garricks  and 
Siddonses  that  ever  trod  the  stage. 
Let  greater  spirits  enjoy  the  sublime 
and  beautiful.  Give  me  the  vulgar 
and  picturesque.  Chacun  a  son  gout  t 
If  this  suits  the  taste  of  your  polite 
readers,  you  shall  hear  further  from 

B. 


THE  INFANT  SHEPHERD  AND  POET. 

From  the  French  o/Floiuan. 


Despise  not,  swains,  my  infant  lay ! 

Hewhom  alike  you  all  adore, 
He  whose  soft  empire  all  obey, 

A  smile  alone  declares  his  power. 
Of  princes,  shepherds,  sov'reign  mild ; 
Ah !  is  he  not,  like  me,  a  child  ? 

The  timid  he  can  render  bold ; 

With  ease  subdue  the  fiercest  heart ; 
The  sage  in  rosy  fetters  hold ; 

The  chains  of  love  can  bliss  impart. 
Of  heroes,  sages,  sov'reign  mild; 
Ah !  is  he  not,  like  me,  a  child  ? 

Creation  is  his  work  alone  ; 

His  breath  the  universe  inspires  ; 
Heav'n,  earth,  and  seas  his  empire  own ; 

O'er  all  pervade  his  genial  fires. 


All  Nature  owns  her  sov'reign  mild : 
Yet  is  he  not,  like  me,  a  child? 

They  say  his  favours  must  be  paid 

By  ceaseless  toil,  by  doubt  and  care; 

But  Hope  is  sent,  consoling  maid, 
To  mitigate  his  wounds  severe. 

Alone  o'er  hearts  the  sov'reign  mild: 

Yet  is  he  still,  like  me,  a  child ! 

Though  at  my  age  unskill'd  in  verse, 

Fair  Stella  has  inspir'd  my  song: 
When  the  bright    day-star  burns  most 
fierce, 
Its  beams  are  felt  from  morning  strong. 
Of  gods  and  kings  the  sov'reign  mild : 
Yet  is  he  not,  like  me,  a  child? 

Valeria. 


THE  CONFESSIONS  OF  A  RAMBLER. 
No.  IV. 


I  pass  over  my  introduction  to 
Mrs.  Fitzherbert  and  her  family,  and 
our  journey  to  Liverpool,  from  which 
port  we  embarked  on  the  22d  July 
for  Baltimore,  on  board  the  "  good 
ship"  Fame,  Captain  Roberts.  I  had 
never  before  been  on  board  a  ship ; 
every  thing  therefore  was  new  to  me, 
and  afforded  ample  scope  for  inves- 
tigation. 

As  we  dropped  down  the  Mersey, 
the  number  of  vessels  which  were 


passing  and  repassing  gave  me  a 
high  idea  of  the  extensive  commerce 
of  my  native  land,  and  of  the  opu- 
lence of  her  citizens,  notwithstanding 
the  croaking  productions  of  certain 
dissatisfied  politicians ;  and  as  we 
gradually  cleared  the  river  and  stood 
out  to  sea,  as  the  majestic  ocean 
opened  to  my  view,  and  the  wide 
expanse  of  waters  spread  before  me, 
whilst  o'er  my  head  heaven's  canopy 
extended  in  majestic  amplitude,  my 


THIS   CONFESSIONS   OF   A   RAMBLER. 


343 


mind  was  impressed  at  once  with 
feelings  of  awe  and  wonder;  emo- 
tions, unknown  before,  thrilled  in  my 
veins,  and  I  felt  as  if  a  new  being 
inspired  and  animated  me. 

I  confess,  that  as  the  land  of  my 
fathers  receded  from  my  view*,  I  at 
first  felt  a  sickening  sensation,  as  I 
reflected  that  I  was  about  to  become 
"  a  sojourner  in  a  strange  land," 
where  I  should  have 

"  No  father  to  guide  the  dark  way  ; 
No  mother  to  wipe  the  salt  tear  :" 

but  the  recollection  that  in  England, 
though  dear  to  me  as  the  land  of  my 
birth,  as  the  land  of  sages  and  of 
heroes,  as  the  birthplace  of  free- 
dom, as  the  abode  of  all  that  is 
great  and  good,  and  wise  and  ho- 
nourable, and  as  the  asylum  for  the 
destitute  and  distressed  of  whatever 
clime  or  persuasion, 

"  Misfortune's  refuge,  and  the  Muses'  seat;" 

that  even  there  I  had  left  few  individu- 
als who  cared  whether  such  a  being 
as  myself  was  borne  aloft  upon  the 
tempestuous  ocean  of  life,  or  whe- 
ther I  was  overwhelmed  by  the  bois- 
terous waves  of  adversity  and  mis- 
fortune. This  thought  reconciled  me 
to  the  step  I  had  taken,  and  with  re- 
novated gaiety  and  added  spirits  I 
set  about  finding  amusement  in  my 
present  situation,  which,  to  say  the 
truth,  afforded  plenty  of  facilities  for 
dissipating  chagrin  and  banishing 
dull  care. 

Besides  the  four  ladies  who  formed 
my  particular  party,  we  had  about 

*   I  can't  but  say  it  is  an  awkward  sight 

To  see  one's  native  land  receding  through 
The  world  of  waters;  it  unmans  one  quite, 

Especially  when  life  is  rather  new. 
I  recollect  Great  Britain's  coasts  look  white, 

But  almost  every  other  country's  blue, 
When  gazing  on  them,  mistified  by  distance, 

We  enter  on  our  uautical  existence. 

Lord  By  it  on. 

Vol.  II.  No.  XII. 


half  a  dozen  cabin-passengers,  and 
several  in  the  steerage.  One  of  the 
former  was  a  most  curious  compound 
of  cockneyism  and  affectation.  He 
had  never  before  been  beyond  the 
sound  of  Bow  bells,  and  was  now 
going  out  to  America  to  transact 
some  business  for  his  father:  a  very 
unfit  person  for  such  an  object,  as  1 
at  first  thought;  but  though  extreme- 
ly ignorant  upon  every  other  subject, 
I  found  him  subsequently  "  quite 
alive"  to  any  thing  which  related  to 
trade ;  and  so  keen  and  sharp  in  his 
dealings,  that  I  soon  guessed  if  Jo- 
nathan* cheated  him,  he  would  have 
only  another  to  cheat.  His  fears, 
real  or  pretended,  amused  us  not  a 
little,  and  as  he  was  the  only  one  of 
the  company  who  was  really  ill  with 
that  distressing  and  painful  com- 
plaint, incident  more  or  less  to  all 
young  sailors,  sea-sickness,  we  were 
enabled  to  make  ourselves  the  more 
merry  with  his  misfortunes ;  and  so 
much  comicality  was  mixed  with  his 
distress,  that  we  were  hard-hearted 
enough  to  laugh  heartily  at  his  wo- 
begone  visage  and  his  most  "  dolor- 
ous complainings."  It  was  with  some 
difficulty  that  we  persuaded  him  it 
was  not  possible  to  tie  the  ship  to  a 
tree,  and  avert  her  motion  till  "  the 
vaves  vere  a  little  bit  stiller,  and  the 
vind  was  dropped ;"  and  the  moving 
accent  with  which  he  sung  out  to  the 
steward  to  "  come  and  old  his  ead, 
for  he  feared  he  vas  agoing  to  wo- 
mit,"  was  irresistible.  But  sea-sick- 
ness does  not  last  for  ever;  and  if 
our  cockney  had  amused  us  whilst 
suffering  under  that  malady,  many  a 

*  Jonathan   is  a  cant  name   for  the 
Americans,  as  is  Yankee  for  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  Northern  States,  and  buck- 
akin  for  those  of  the  Southern. 
Z  z 


344 


THR   CONFESSIONS   OF    A    ItAMULEIi. 


time  was  a  hearty  laugh  elicited  at 
his  expense  in  the  course  of  our  voy- 
age. 

Two  other  of  our  cabin-passengers 
were  humdrum  uninteresting  person- 
ages, who  talked  of  nothing  but  po- 
litics, and  settled  the  balance  of  pow- 
er every  day  over  their  wine.  A  I 
fourth  was  a  melancholy  swain,  who  j 
walked  the  deck  all  day  with  his  arms 
"  folded  in  a  true  lover's  knot,"  and 
who  spent  the  night  in  "  writing  son- 
nets to  his  mistress's  eyes,"  or  per- 
chance in  dreaming  of  her  when 

"  Tir'd  Nature's  sweet  restorer, 
Balmy  sleep,'' 

"  lighted  on  his  lids,"  and  made  him 
"  oblivious"  for  a  while  to  the  woes 
which  his  Belinda's  neglect  (for  we 
found  out  at  last  that  he  was  "  un- 
happy in  his  love")  had  heaped  upon 
him.     A   fifth  was  a   bonny   Scot, 
come  "  a'  the  wa'  fra'  Aberdeen;" 
and  a  canny  chiel  he  was :  he  was 
going  to  America  because  the  tax- 
gatherers  made  Scotland—poor  coun- 
try ! — "  a  land,"  said  he,  "  nou  al- 
most afraid  to  know  itself,  and  not 
worth  living  in."     The  sixth  was  a 
fine  spirited  young  man  of  one  and 
twenty,  who  was  going  out  as  agent 
for  his  uncle,  an  eminent  merchant 
of  Liverpool,  with  extensive  connec- 
tions  in   America.     From  the  first 
moment  of  our  meeting,  Henry  Ber- 
tram and  myself  were  sworn  friends; 
we  ate  together ;  we  slept  together; 
we  alternately  romped  with  the  ladies, 
quizzed  the  cockney,  talked  politics 
with  the  two  "  humdrums,"  or  roused 
all   the   Scotchman's   hot  blood  by 
praising  the  late  minister,  the  lament- 
ed Pitt,  and  extolling  his  measures 
as  the  very  acme  of  political  wisdom 
and  sagacity.  Oft  too  at  night,  when 
"   o'er   the   one   half  world  nature 
seemed  dead,"  have  we  paced  the 


deck,  listening  to  the  rude  songs  of 
the  sailors,  laughing  at  their  practical 
jokes,  or  forming  one  of  an  attentive 
circle,  whose  ears  were  greedily  drink- 
ing in  some  tale  of  superstition  or  of 
horror,  narrated  by  a  veteran  tar, 
whose  weather-beaten  form  was  evi- 
dence of  the  service  he  had  seen. 
At  these  moments  we  have  noticed 
men,  who  could  have  faced  death  in 
its  worst  form,  and  braved  danger 
in  its  most  horrid  shape,  shrink  with 
apprehension  as  the  wind  rustled  in 
the  cordage  of  the  gallant  vessel,  or 
start  with  horror  as  they  fancied  they 
saw  some  unembodied  shape,  "  the 
mere  creation  of  their  heat-oppressed 
brains,"  inflamed  by  the  stories  to 
which  they  had  been  eagerly  listen- 
ing, flit  before  them.  Such  is  the 
influence  of  superstition  on  the  minds 
of  men,  who,  in  every  other  respect, 
are  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 

I  have  said  nothing  yet  of  the  la- 
dies, who  were  more  immediately 
my  compagnons  du  voyage.  But 
they  must  not  be  forgotten,  for  tbey 
formed  the  greatest  charm  of  the 
voyage,  the  link  which  kept  us  all 
in  amity,  the  soothing  spirit  which 
softened  down  all  our  asperities,  and 
promoted  and  strengthened  the  so- 
ciality of  our  party.  At  all  times 
endearing,  ever  possessing  the  power 
to  smooth  the  anguished  brow,  and 
to  light  up  a  smile  upon  the  cheek 
of  woe,  on  ship-board  I  have  found 
the  society  of  woman  interesting  and 
enchanting  beyond  any  thing  which 
mere  dull  plodders,  who  have  no  idea 
but  those  of  "  profit  and  loss ;"  or 
heartless  mortals,  who,  "  concenter'd 
all  in  self,"  have  no  feeling  for  the 
ecstatic  delight  which  the  society  of 
"  dear  lovely  woman"  confers,  can 
conceive.     There,  where 

"  All  around  is  one  wide  ocean, 
All  above  is  one  blue  sky  ;" 


THK    CONFESSIONS   OF    A    RAMKLKIt. 


345 


where  there  is  only  a  plank  between 
life  and  eternity,  and  where  not  un- 
frequently  the  "  demon  of  the  storm," 
careering  on  the  winds,  threatens 
destruction  to  the  frail  bark  which 
bounds  upon  the  billows,  I  have  wit- 
nessed such  self-devotion,  such  for- 
titude, such  magnanimity  in  this  "  fair- 
er half  of  the  creation,"  as  would  put 
to  shame  one  half  of  that  sex  who 
arrogate  to  themselves  not  unfre- 
quently.the  whole  of  these  qualities; 
whilst  at  other  times  I  have  beheld 
such  playful  innocence,  such  a  be- 
witching suavity,  such  a  desire  to 
promote  the  happiness  and  to  con- 
tribute to  the  comforts  of  others, 
with  such  a  total  disregard  of  self, 
that  woman,  "  lovely  woman,"  has 
long  become  the  goddess  "  of  my 
idolatry,"  the  object  of  my  fondest 
wishes,  as  she  was  of  my  earliest 
cares.     But  to  return. 

The  society  in  the  cabin  was  fur- 
ther increased  by  the  captain  and 
the  mate,  both  of  whom  were  gen- 
tlemanly in  their  behaviour,  though 
their  academy  of  arts  had  been  the 
ship ;  and  when  we  were  all  assem- 
bled in  the  cabin,  we  formed  a  jovial 
party  of  twelve*  "  merry  souls,  and 
all  agog"  for  any  kind  of  fun,  not 
excepting  even  the  cockney,  our  love- 
sick swain,  and  the  two  "  humdrums," 
as  I  have  denominated  the  elderly 
gentlemen,  who,  when  not  engaged  j 
in  any  general  scheme  of  diversion, 
were  always  talking  politics,  to  the 
great  annoyance  of  the  rest  of  the 
company. 

Such  then  were  my  companions 

*  Including  myself,  the  cabin  party 
formed  thirteen ;  but  either  the  mate  or 
captain  was  always  absent  if  all  the  pas- 
sengers were  present,  in  order  that  there 
might  not  be  an  odd  number  in  company, 
which  the  sailors  said  was  unlucky. 


in  the  first  voyage  I  ever  took,  and 
with  them  the  time  flew  merrily  on. 
Reading,  singing,  dancing,  a  game 
at  romps  or  at  cards,  formed  our 
amusements,  and  but  for  one  melan- 
choly event,  our  voyage  would  have 
been  indeed  a  joyous  one. 

We  had  been  out  nearly  three 
weeks  with  delightful  weather;  a  fair 
wind  and  a  fresh  breeze  had  wafted 
us  over  the  Atlantic  at  a  glorious 
rate;  and  we  were  anticipating  the 
sight  of  land  in  a  few  days,  without 
having  any  accident  to  mar  the  hap- 
piness of  our  voyage,  when,  on  the 
8d  of  August,  early  in  the  morning, 
the  breeze  began  to  freshen,  and  to 
foretel  a  gale.  All  day  the  clouds 
were  gathering  around  us,  and  the 
sailors  were  busily  engaged  in  "  mak- 
ing all  tight,"  in  stowing  away  every 
moveable  upon  deck,  and  in  reefing 
and  taking  in  the  sails,  preparatory 
to  the  storm  which  was  fully  antici- 
pated. Evening  came  on,  but  it 
brought  no  abatement  of  our  fears. 
The  wind  was  evidently  increasing  in 
violence ;  and  when  the  passengers 
were  requested  to  keep  between 
decks,  that  the  sailors  might  not  be 
impeded  in  their  movements  by  their 
interference  or  their  fears,  we  obeyed 
the  mandate  with  aching  hearts  and 
fearful  anticipations  of  coming  evil; 
and  as  the 


■ "  pealing  gust 

Rolled   along  the  mountainous  waves,  as 

'twere 
Thunder  among  the  Alps " 

we  shuddered  to  think  what  that 
night  might  bring  forth.  The  cap- 
tain and  mate  were  both  on  deck; 
our  cockney  had  crept  into  his  birth ; 
but  the  rest  assembled  in  the  cabin, 
too  awfully  impressed  with  the  na- 
ture of  our  situation  to  read,  to  con- 
verse, or  to  engage  in  any  device  for 
Z  z  2 


346 


TUB   CONFESSIONS  OF   A   HAMBLKlt. 


hurrying  on  the  leaden  foot  of  time. 
From  time  to  time  the  voice  of  the 
captain  or  mate  was  heard  issuing 
orders,  all  of  which  were  of  a  pre- 
cautionary nature.  These,  with  the 
hoarse  "  Aye,  aye,  sir!"  of  the  men, 
as  they  flew  to  execute  the  directions 
of  their  officers,  were  the  only  sounds 
which  broke  in  upon  the  deep  howl- 
ing of  the  winds,  and  loud  roaring  of 
the  waves,  as  they  beat  against  the 
sides  of  "  the  gallant  vessel."  Oc- 
casionally the  captain  came  down, 
but  neither  his  words,  nor  still  less  his 
looks  and  manner,  were  calculated  to 
dissipate  the  alarm  and  dread  which 
hung  over  us.  He  told  us  he  had  a 
tight  sea -boat,  and  need  not  fear 
weathering  the  storm ;  which,  how- 
ever, he  admitted  to  be  one  of  the 
most  violent  he  had  encountered  for 
some  voyages.  The  agitation  of  the 
vessel  convinced  us  that  she  "  work- 
ed dreadfully;"  we  could  not  keep 
our  seats  without  "  holding  on"  by 
some  fixture ;  and  if  we  could  have 
been  amused  at  such  a  time,  we  cer- 
tainly should  have  been  so  by  the 
exclamations  of  the  cockney,  who 
every  now  and  then  broke  forth  in  a 
most  curious  strain  of  lamentation. 
The  ladies  behaved  most  heroically. 
We  were  all  seated  on  the  seats 
which  ran  round  the  cabin,  for  the 
convenience  of  holding  on  by  the 
lockers.  Mrs.  F.  was  under  the 
care  of  the  Scotchman,  who,  to  say 
the  truth,  conducted  himself  that 
night  in  a  way  which  considerably 
raised  him  in  my  esteem;  Miss  F. 
was  protected  by  Henry  Bertram; 
and  the  fair  Matilda  and  Charlotte 
fell  to  my  care ;  and  as  I  sat  with  an 
arm  round' each  of  these  sweet  girls, 
whilst  they  reclined  on  my  shoulder, 
I  felt,  that  "  then  to  have  died  would 
have  been  to  be  most  happy,"  and  I 


recked  little  of  the  storm  without,  so 
earnestly  was  I  engaged  in  contem- 
plating the  charms  within.  Our  si- 
lence was  frequently  disturbed  by 
the  loud  outcries  of  the  steerage-pas- 
sengers, as  they  were  dashed  to  and 
fro  in  their  narrow  abode,  for  the 
want  of  taking  due  precautions  to 
secure  themselves;  whilst  the  screams 
of  the  children,  for  there  were  se- 
veral on  board,  added  to  the  horrors 
of  the  scene.  In  truth  it  was  a  me- 
lancholy night :  we  were  aware  of 
our  imminent  danger,  not  only  from 
the  loud  uproar  of  the  elements,  but 
from  the  continued  absence  of  the 
captain  and  the  increased  commo- 
tion on  deck;  and  when  this  last  sub- 
sided into  a  solemn  and  deathlike 
stillness,  we  knew  not  of  what  horror 
it  might  be  the  forerunner.  At  length 
"  wished  morning  came,"  and  the 
captain  descended  to  visit  us.  He 
told  us  he  hoped  the  danger  was 
over;  said  it  had  been  indeed  a 
dreadful  night,  and  complimented 
us  upon  our  fortitude,  inviting  such 
of  us  as  wished  to  go  upon  deck, 
and  contemplate  the  ocean  in  its  most 
sublime  but  most  appalling  form. 
None  of  us  would  stay  behind,  ex- 
cept the  cockney,  who,  completely 
exhausted  by  watching  and  appre- 
hension, was  now  in  a  sound  sleep ; 
a  heavy  perspiration  was  settled  on 
his  brows,  which  sufficiently  denoted 
how  great  his  fears  had  been,  and 
the  captain  thought  it  best  not  to  dis- 
turb him,  so  we  left  him  to  his  repose. 
When  we  got  upon  deck  an  aw- 
ful scene  presented  itself.  The  sea 
was  running  mountains  high,  and  the 
vessel,  one  moment  carried  on  the 
summit  of  the  waves,  till  its  masts 
seemed  to  pierce  the  clouds,  was  in 
the  next  hurled  into  an  abyss  of 
waters,  which  appeared  as  if  certain 


THE   GHOST    OF    ST.  GBTIMAIN. 


347 


to  overwhelm  her.  She  was  scud- 
ding under  bare  poles,  the  helm  was 
lashed  hard  up,  and  she  drifted  com- 
pletely at  the  mercy  of  the  winds 
and  waves  like  a  log  of  wood,  aban- 
doned to  their  fury.  The  ladies 
gave  a  shriek  of  horror,  and  covering 
their  eyes,  shrunk,  shuddering,  from 
the  contemplation  of  the  scene.  But 
the  assurances  of  the  captain  induc- 
ed them  to  conquer  their  fears,  and 
having  seated  themselves  upon  a 
hen-coop,  which  was  lashed  to  the 
mizen-mast,  and  holding  on  by  the 
rigging,  they  cast  a  fearful  gaze 
around.  Whilst  we  were  all  stationed 
on  the  quarter-deck,  we  saw  a  woman 
helped  out  of  the  steerage  by  her 
husband;  she  had  a  child  in  her 
arms,  who  wanted  a  little  fresh  air, 
she  said,  for  it  was  almost  smother- 
ed. Mrs.  F.  called  to  her  to  come 
to  them,  and  they  would  make  room 
for  her  on  the  hen-coop,  where  they 
were  sitting.  The  poor  creature  was 
turning  round  to  advance  in  that  di- 
rection, when  a  heavy  sea  took  the 
vessel  on  her  quarter,  washing  over 
every  thing  that  stood  in  its  way.  I 
was  thrown  with  great  force  against 
the  companion,  and  my  comrades 
escaped  with  more  or  less  injury, 
according  as  they  had  been  prudent 
enough  to  secure  themselves  previ- 
ously. The  ladies  were  completely 
wetted,  though  they  kept  their  seats; 


but  a  heart-piercing  shriek  called  our 
attention,  as  soon  as  we  had  a  little 
recovered  ourselves,  to  the  poor  wo- 
man and  her  child.  We  found  the 
former  stretched  on  the  deck ;  the 
latter  had  been  washed  out  of  her 
arms;  we  caught  one  glimpse  of  it 
on  the  surface  of  the  waves ;  we  heard 
its  faint  scream  as  the  billows  wash- 
ed over  it  and  hid  it  from  our  sight, 
and  it  was  gone  for  ever! 

The  wretched  mother  would  have 
precipitated  herself  after  her  infant 
if  she  had  not  been  withheld ;  and 
her  frantic  grief,  with  the  more  sub- 
dued but  equally  acute  sorrow  of  the 
father,  was  almost  heart- breaking 
to  witness.  She  was  taken  into  the 
cabin,  and  attended  to  as  well  as 
things  would  permit ;  and  frequently 
have  I  heard  her  invoke  blessings 
on  the  head  of  the  "  kind  angels," 
as  she  called  them,  the  Miss  F.'s, 
whose  attentions,  she  declared,  had 
alone  enabled  her  to  preserve  her 
senses  after  that  dreadful  shock. 
This  accident  gave  a  tone  of  sadness 
to  our  after-voyage,  during  which 
we  had  much  less  of  that  gay  and 
careless  hilarity  which  marked  the 
former  part  of  it;  and  when  the  sea- 
man at  the  mast-head  sung  out  "land!" 
it  was  a  joyful  sound  to  all,  and  to 
none  more  than  to 

A  Rambler. 


GHOST    STORIES.— No.  III. 

THE    GHOST   OF    ST.    GERMAIN. 


The  Abb6  de  la  Chapelle,  doctor 
of  the  Sorbonne,  had  a  brother  at  St. 
Germain  en  Laye,  who  once  wrote 
to  him  that  the  house  of  his  good 
friend  and  neighbour,  St.  Gilles,  the 
grocer,  had  been  haunted  for  a  con- 
siderable time  by  a  ghost,  which  in- 


deed had  never  injured  any  one,  but 
yet  terrified  all  who,  from  curiosity, 
entered  the  house,  by  its  singular 
tones  and  significant  expressions.  It 
was  impossible,  he  continued,  that 
there  could  be  any  deception  in  the 
affair,  as  had  at  first  been  surmised ; 


348 


Tllfi    GHOST    OF   ST.  GERMAIN. 


for  many  persons,  and  some  of  them 
men  of  the  acutest  penetration,  had 
exerted  all  their  resolution  and  inge- 
nuity to  discover  some  natural  cause 
of  the  phenomena  in  question,  but 
to  no  purpose.  Even  the  Catholic 
clergy  of  the  town  and  neighbour- 
hood had  lent  their  assistance,  and 
had  courageously  placed  themselves 
in  the  way  of  the  talkative  spirit,  and 
attempted  to  drive  it  away  by  means 
of  holy  water,  Ave  Marias,  and  ex- 
orcisms; but  the  ghost  had  indulged 
in  many  witty  sallies  at  the  great  pre- 
parations made  for  his  expulsion, 
and  sneered  at  his  impotent  adversa- 
ries. These  circumstances  had  com- 
pletely puzzled  every  one,  whether 
free-thinker  or  orthodox  Catholic, 
so  that  nobody  knew  what  to  think 
of  the  invisible  but  loquacious  visit- 
ant. 

The  doctor,  whose  faith  was  not 
strong  enough  to  attribute  such  ef- 
fects to  supernatural  causes,  deter- 
mined, on  the  receipt  of  this  letter, 
to  pay  a  visit  to  his  brother  at  St. 
Germain,  that  he  might  personally 
examine  into  the  affair,  with  a  view 
to  detect  the  imposture ;  for  he  took 
it  for  granted  that  there  must  be  some 
deception,  and  was  vain  enough  to 
imagine  that  it  would  not  long  escape 
him,  with  his  observation,  and  the 
knowledge  of  men  and  things  which 
he  possessed. 

He  arrived  quite  unexpectedly  at 
St.  Germain,  and  scarcely  had  he 
alighted  at  his  brother's,  before  he 
hastened  to  his  neighbour's,  minutely 
inspected  the  whole  house,  and 
examined  doors  and  windows.  St. 
Gilles,  the  master  of  the  house,  as- 
sisted him  in  this  survey.  All  at 
once  the  doctor  heard  a  feint  voice 
saying  to  him,  "  What  seek  you  here, 
doctor?  Your  presence  is  more  ne- 


cessary at  Paris,  where  you  have 
commenced  the  conversion  of  a  fair 
Saxon,  whom  you  run  the  risk  of 
losing." 

The  doctor  reddened.  "  That 
voice  came  from  the  top  of  the  house," 
said  he,  after  a  short  pause.  "  Let 
us  go  up  stairs.  This  ghost  seems 
anxious  to  get  out  of  the  way,  the 
more  one  tries  to  approach  him." 

Accordingly  they  proceeded  to  the 
floor  above,  from  which  the  voice 
apparently  proceeded.  "  Who  hath 
speil-bound  thee  here?"  said  the  doc- 
tor to  the  spirit. 

"  That  is  no  business  of  yours," 
replied  the  voice,  as  if  from  the  gar- 
ret: "  but  let  me  ask  you,  doctor,  who 
sent  you  hither?  Assumptions  are 
not  proofs;  neither  is  self-conceit 
strength." 

The  doctor,  who  expected  nothing 
less  than  this  retort  from  the  invisi- 
ble being,  now  had  recourse  to  stra- 
tagem, and  holding  out  his  closed 
hands,  he  said,  "  If  thou  art  really 
a  spirit,  tell  me  what  I  have  in  my 
hands." 

The  spirit  without  delay  returned 
this  equally  severe  and  appropriate 
answer:  "  In  the  right  a  Portuguese, 
and  in  the  left  a  Spanish  coin;  and 
on  your  mantel-piece  at  Paris  you 
have  left  a  third,  with  which  you 
hoped  to  drive  me  before  this  into  a 
corner." 

The  doctor  actually  had  nothing 
in  his  hands;  but  still  he  could  not 
but  feel  sore  at  the  reply,  since  he 
had  certainly  placed  himself  with  his 
ticklish  question  on  an  equality  with 
the  grand  inquisitors  of  Spain  and 
Portugal.  Neither  perhaps  was  the 
spirit  so  very  wrong  in  intimating  to 
the  doctor,  that  it  was  much  easier  to 
satisfy  himself  of  the  non-existence 
of  a  goblin  over  the  pipe  which  he 


THE    GHOST    OF    ST.  GERMAIN. 


349 


bad  left  on  the  mantel-piece  of  his 
study  at  Paris,  than  to  detect  and 
expose  it  on  the  spot. 

The  doctor,  however,  strove  to 
conceal  his  embarrassment  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  said,  "  It  seems  as  if 
the  spirit  was  afraid  of  me,  for  he 
will  not  speak  to  me  except  at  a  dis- 
tance." 

"  Come  nearer  to  me,"  replied  the 
voice  from  the  uppermost  floor  ;  "  I 
will  wait  for  you  without  stirring." 

The  doctor,  who  could  not  for 
shame  decline  the  invitation,  began 
slowly  to  ascend  the  half-decayed 
stairs,  which  unluckily  broke  down  un- 
der him.  The  unfortunate  abbe  fell ; 
and  this  accident,  together  with  the 
crash  of  the  crazy  stairs,  greatly  aug- 
mented his  trepidation.  The  sly  spi- 
rit seized  this  favourable  moment,  and 
declared  with  a  terrific  voice  that  he 
would  be  the  death  of  him. 

The  affrighted  doctor  now  had 
recourse  to  supplications;  he  earnest- 
ly implored  his  antagonist  to  spare 
his  hfe,  and  solemnly  promised  to 
leave  in  peace  all  the  goblins  that  he 
could  not  drive  out. 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  the  voice,  "  to 
find  that  you  begin  to  have  better 
notions.  Go  your  ways,  but  never 
meddle  in  future  with  such  beings 
as  we  are ;  and  bear  continually  in 
mind  this  maxim,  that  modesty  is  far 
safer  than  foolhardiness." 

The  doctor,  trembling  in  every 
joint,  went  down  stairs  to  the  ground- 
floor,  and  was  resolved  not  to  stay 
any  longer  either  in  the  haunted 
house  or  in  the  neighbourhood.  He 
declared  that  he  would  return  that 
very  day  to  his  colleagues,  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Sorbonne,  to  hold  a 
formal  consultation  with  them  on  this 
mysterious  business. 


To  spare  him  this  probably  use- 
less trouble,  M.  St.  Gilles,  who  had 
never  quitted  his  side  till  the  final 
accident,  stepped  to  him  with  a  smile, 
and  assured  him  that  the  ghost  was 
no  other  than — himself.  "  I  under- 
stand something,"  continued  he,  "  of 
the  art  of  ventriloquism,  which  is  yet 
but  little  known,  and  all  the  mysteri- 
ous tones  which  seemed  to  come  from 
above  proceeded  only  from  the  in- 
side of  my  chest." 

The  doctor  stared  in  astonislunent 
at  this  instructive  confession.  An 
oppressive  weight  was  removed  from 
his  heart  by  the  repetition  of  this 
most  welcome  assurance;  though  he 
had  at  first  great  difficulty  to  believe 
it.  St.  Gilles,  in  pity  to  the  inere- 
dulous  abbe,  gave  him  on  the  spot 
the  most  irrefragable  evidence  of  the 
truth  of  his  assertions. 

St.  Gilles  had  learned  the  art  of 
another  ventriloquist  at  Martinique, 
with  whom  he  was  intimate  there, 
and  he  declared  that  it  cost  him  only 
a  week's  practice  to  make  himself 
perfect  in  it. 

The  Abbe  de  la  Chapelle  read  a 
paper  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences 
at  Paris  on  the  subject  of  his  adven- 
tures at  St.  Germain;  and  the  aca- 
demy deputed  two  of  its  members, 
Fouchy  and  Le  Roi,  to  institute  a 
formal  investigation  of  the  matter  on 
the  spot.  This  commission  they  exe- 
cuted in  August  1777,  and  heard 
such  extraordinary  things  that  they 
were  not  less  surprised  than  convinc- 
ed. 

How  often  may  not  accomplished 
jugglers  have  profited  by  the  flexi- 
bility of  the  organs  of  speech  to  im- 
pose upon  the  simple  and  unsuspect- 
ing: ! 


350 


OF  THE  COURTS  OF  LOVE  IN  THE  AGES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


The  life  of  a  German  gentleman 
in  the  middle  ages  was  divided  into 
three  important  periods.  Till  his 
seventeenth  year  he  was  left  under 
the  care  of  women,  who  took  charge 
of  his  early  education,  and  excited 
his  emulation  by  narrating  the  feats 
of  valiant  knights.  When  taken  out 
of  their  hands,  he  was  placed  in  the 
quality  of  page  about  the  person  of 
some  knight,  at  whose  castle  he  was 
taught  all  that  was  requisite  for  his 
future  condition.  Fidelity,  love,  and 
valour  were  the  virtues  incessantly 
instilled  into  him.  When  it  was  re- 
marked that  the  young  page,  after 
having  performed  with  zeal  the  du- 
ties of  his  situation  for  his  knight  and 
his  lady,  was  fond  of  indulging  in 
martial  sports,  pains  were  taken  to 
confirm  him  in  his  faith,  in  order  to 
prepare  him  to  become  one  day  a  de- 
fender of  religion  and  the  church. 
The  ladies  also  formed  a  main  point 
in  the  principles  which  were  assidu- 
ously impressed  on  the  mind  of  the 
young  gentleman.  Feeble  and  un- 
armed as  were  the  church  and  the 
sex,  they  had  need  of  a  particular 
protection.  To  succour  the  oppress- 
ed, to  defend  the  widow  and  the 
orphan,  belonged  to  the  vocation  of 
the  novice,  whose  heart  was  yet  un- 
acquainted with  the  pleasures  and 
dissipations  of  a  corrupting  world. 
The  pious  knight  not  only  deemed  it 
an  imperative  duty  to  save  at  the 
risk  of  his  life,  and  to  endow  rich 
foundations  for  monks  and  priests, 
but  also  made  it  his  glory  to  love 
and  to  serve  the  ladies.  The  Greeks 
and  Romans  of  old  considered  wo- 
men as  merely  subservient  to  their 
pleasures;  whereas  the  German  gen- 
tleman, less  enslaved  to  the  senses, 


and  enlightened  by  a  pure  and  sub- 
lime religion,  looked  upon  them  as 
the  master-piece  of  the  creation,  and 
their  service  as  the  most  delightful 
of  his  duties.  The  continual  exam- 
ple of  models  of  chivalry,  the  society 
of  the  esquires  who  had  attended 
the  knight  in  his  expeditions,  and  the 
songs  of  the  Troubadours,  excited 
juvenile  courage  to  generous  actions. 
The  youth  longed  for  the  moment 
when  the  priest  should  deliver  to  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  the  sword  of 
which  he  should  one  day  make  such 
noble  use.  The  pages  passed  seven 
years  in  this  new  state,  which  ren- 
dered them  the  companions  and  as- 
sistants of  their  masters.  Admitted 
into  the  family  circle,  the  page  felt 
an  interest  in  every  thing  that  related 
to  his  knight.  It  was  his  duty  to 
take  care  of  the  armour  and  the 
horse  of  the  latter,  to  provide  for 
the  defence  and  safety  of  the  castle, 
and  to  devote  the  rest  of  his  time  to 
his  mistress.  He  accompanied  his 
master  to  tournaments  and  in  his  ex- 
peditions, to  fight  under  his  eye,  and 
to  form  himself  by  his  example. 
Sometimes  the  distinction  of  rank 
between  the  knight  and  his  esquire 
was  wholly  overlooked,  and  gave  way 
to  a  sincere  friendship,  which,  tried 
by  common  dangers,  and  renewed  by 
the  recollection  of  them,  united  the 
two  so  closely,  that  they  could  never 
afterwards  part  from  each  other. 

But  if  the  servant  wished  to  be- 
come master  in  his  turn,  he  might  do 
so  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  which, 
according  to  the  Saxon  law,  was  the 
age  of  majority.  He  was  then  in- 
vested with  the  arms  and  insignia  of 
knighthood,  if  he  had  not  already 
obtained    that   distinction   by   some 


COURTS    OF    LOVE    IN    THE    AGKS    OF    CHIVALRY. 


3.51 


achievement.  The  new  knight  swore 
to  serve  with  fidelity  his  prince  and 
country,  to  defend  his  religion,  to 
succour  the  widow  and  orphan,  to 
protect  the  oppressed,  to  fight  the 
infidels,  to  respect  the  chastity  of 
women,  and  to  extol  on  all  occasions 
their  beauty  and  their  virtue.  This 
oath  was  at  the  same  time  the  cate- 
chism of  the  knight.  As  chivalry 
was  the  pivot  on  which  not  only  his 
existence,  but  that  of  his  contempo- 
raries in  general  revolved,  the  con- 
sequence was,  that  he  could  not  but 
consider  chivalry  as  a  most  sacred  vo- 
cation, to  which  every  thing  else  in 
the  world  ought  to  be  subservient, 
and  that  it  behoved  him  to  fulfil  its 
duties  most  religiously.  This  spirit, 
and  the  emulation  of  princes  to  ren- 
der themselves  the  most  distinguish- 
ed members  of  chivalry  by  their  va- 
lour and  personal  merit,  as  they  were 
the  most  illustrious  by  their  birth, 
ensured  to  this  institution  an  honour- 
able duration  of  several  centuries. 
The  tournament  was  not  only  a  pub- 
lic and  military  festival,  but  at  the 
same  time  a  most  rigid  tribunal.  It 
was  from  the  hands  of  their  ladies 
that  the  victors  received  the  prizes 
■won  by  their  courage  and  address. 
Every  tournament  drew  together  the 
females  most  distinguished  for  beau- 
ty and  rank.  The  respect  and  ad- 
miration which  the  competitors  evinc- 
ed for  the  ladies  avIio  were  the  um- 
pires and  rewarders  of  their  merit, 
easily  changed  to  a  softer  sentiment, 
that  of  the  tenderest  love.  The  most 
gratifying  triumph  of  valour  was  to 
please  beauty.  This  sentiment,  de- 
voted no  doubt  rather  to  the  sex  in 
general,  than  to  any  particular  indi- 
vidual, was  moulded  into  an  art, 
which  the  French  have  very  aptly  - 
Vol.  II.  No.  XII. 


designated  by  the  term  galanterie. 
This  art  soon  became  the  object  of  a 
diffuse  theory,  which,  agreeably  to 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  gave  rise  to 
particular  tribunals  for  taking  cog- 
nizance of,  and  deciding  all  matters 
relating  to,  love.  Respect  for  the  la- 
dies soon  began  to  assume  a  tincture 
of  idolatry.  Blood  was  spilled  for 
unknown  fair-ones,  and  for  sovereign 
commands  which  an  adored  mistress 
had  not  even  thought  of  giving. 
Complaints,  sighs,  and  genuflexions 
occupied  the  leisure  left  by  religion 
and  military  exercises.  The  more 
nearly  the  intercourse  of  the  two 
sexes  approached  to  Platonic  love, 
the  more  it  became  the  object  of  the 
profoundest  speculation. 

At  first  there  were  but  occasional 
assemblies  of  females  to  which  dis- 
puted points  and  difficult  questions 
were  submitted:  for  who  could  be 
better  qualified  to  decide  in  such  ca- 
ses than  women,  who  are  formed  for 
love  and  are  its  fairest  ornament? 
The  genial  climate  of  Valencia,  Ca- 
talonia, Arragon,  and  the  southern 
provinces  of  France,  gave  to  the  hap- 
py inhabitants  of  those  countries 
that  flexibility  of  mind  and  fertility 
of  imagination,  which  seem  to  dimi- 
nish in  more  northern  latitudes. 
There  was  formed  in  the  tenth  cen- 
tury the  Provencal  language,  alike 
adapted  to  sing  the  sweet  pangs  and 
power  of  love,  and  the  exploits  of 
chivalrous  valour.  Princes  and  no- 
bles, men  and  women,  composed  in 
that  language,  and  were  eager  to  en- 
rol themselves  among  the  Trouba- 
dours. Their  art  had  for  its  aim  to 
sooth  the  pains  of  life,  and  it  was 
therefore  denominated  la  gaya  ci~ 
encia,  or  the  jovial  science.  These 
compositions,  besides  celebrating  the 
3  A 


352 


COURTS    OF    LOVE    IN    THE    AGES    OF    CHIVALRY. 


prowess  of  the  knights,  likewise  ex- 
tolled love,  that  noble  and  chaste 
passion,  such  as  a  mystic  theory  de- 
lighted to  represent  it.  The  acci- 
dental meeting  of  several  minstrels 
soon  produced  poetical  competitions, 
and  it  was  females  who  decided  in 
this  case  also,  for  they  were  chosen 
by  the  poets  for  umpires.  Assem- 
blies of  this  kind  were  called  Courts 
of  Love;  and  they  borrowed  their 
ordinary  formalities  from  the  courts 
of  justice.  Though  the  period  of 
their  first  institution  cannot  be  pre- 
cisely ascertained,  yet  we  find,  so  ear- 
ly as  the  commencement  of  the  twelfth 
century,  in  various  parts  of  the  south 
of  France  and  the  adjacent  countries, 
Courts  of  Love,  of  which  historians 
have  left  us  detailed  descriptions. 
It  is  probable  that  there  were  several 
others,  of  which  no  historical  traces 
are  to  be  found.  It  was  chiefly  in 
the  month  of  May  that  these  Courts 
of  Love  were  held  in  the  north  of 
France,  and  as  the  tribunal  was  com- 
monly placed  under  a  shady  elm, 
they  were  called  Sports  under  the 
Elm. 

The  Courts  of  Love  were  com- 
posed of  a  female  president,  and  from 
ten  to  sixty  counsellors  of  the  same 
sex.  Sometimes  kings  or  princes 
presided,  and  they  were  then  styled 
Princes  of  Love.  At  each  court 
there  were  numerous  offices  and  dig- 
nities. At  the  Court  of  Love,  which 
flourished  for  example  at  Paris,  un- 
der the  presidency  of  Isabel  of  Ba- 
varia, in  the  time  of  Charles  VI. 
there  were  two  great  huntsmen  to 
the  court,  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
eight  keepers  of  archives  and  regis- 
ters, fifty-nine  knights  of  honour  as 
counsellors  to  the  court,  fifty-two 
knights-treasurers,  fifty -seven  mas- 
ters,   and    thirty  -  two    secretaries. 


Among  these  different  classes  of  di<*- 
nitaries  we  meet  with  the  names  of 
the  most  illustrious  families,  and  of 
the  most  celebrated  scholars  and 
statesmen  of  the  age.  There  were 
besides  many  inferior  tribunals,  from 
which  appeals  might  be  made  to  the 
high  court  sitting  at  Paris.  The 
sentences  of  the  court,  called  Arresta 
Amorwn  (Decrees  of  Love)  were 
guided  partly  by  the  code  of  love  as- 
cribed to  King  Arthur,  the  regula- 
tions of  which  are  subjoined  to  this 
article,  and  partly  by  the  common 
law. 

The  execution  of  these  decrees 
was  assured  beforehand,  for  the  par- 
ties were  required  to  swear  that  they 
would  submit  to  the  sentence  that* 
should  be  pronounced;  and,  besides, 
they  durst  not  refuse  compliance  with 
the  decision  of  the  most  honourable 
and  powerful  persons  of  the  city  or 
country.  There  are  instances  of  pe- 
cuniary fines,  but  banishment  from 
the  Kingdom  of  Love,  that  is  to  say, 
exclusion  from  good  company,  and 
other  degrading  punishments,  were 
more  frequent. 

It  is  obvious,  that  as  the  influence 
and  authority  of  these  tribunals  de- 
pended on  public  opinion  alone,  they 
could  subsist  no  longer  than  while 
that  sovereign  of  the  world  continu- 
ed to  favour  them.  The  discredit  of 
chivalry  was  attended  with  the  de- 
cline of  the  Courts  of  Love,  and  of 
gallantry,  on  which  they  were  found- 
ed. More  grave  and  important  con- 
cerns began  to  engage  the  public 
mind :  jousts  and  tournaments  gave 
place  to  long  and  sanguinary  wars; 
standing  armies  enabled  the  sove- 
reign to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  his 
vassals  ;  poetry  fled  from  the  courts 
of  the  great  Jtncl  from  the  castles, 
and  became  the  exclusive  property 


COURTS    OF    LOVE    IN    THK    AGES    OF    CHIVALRY. 


858 


of  a  few  individuals,  chiefly  of  the 
commonalty,  which  class,  finding  it- 
self associated  in  the  glory  of  arms 
and  the  defence  of  the  country,  be- 
gan to  be  sensible  of  its  consequence. 
The  power  of  the  clergy,  founded  on 
the  cultivation  of  the  sciences,  was 
also  shaken;  and  while  the  nobility 
and  clergy  prepared  to  defend  their 
prerogatives,  commerce  gave  fresh 
importance  to  the  commons.  The 
citizens,  formerly  accustomed  to  pas- 
sive obedience,  insensibly  raised 
doubts  respecting  the  superiority  of 
the  privileged  classes,  which  they  had 
then  begun  to  rival  in  knowledge, 
understanding,  and  refinement. 

But  to  return  to  the  Courts  of  Love. 
The  mode  of  proceeding  was  mostly 
verbal,  and  this  was  the  most  natu- 
ral course  in  tribunals  composed  of 
judges  endowed  by  nature  with  an 
admirable  loquacity:  but  yet  there 
were  also  records  for  perpetuating 
the  memory  of  the  most  celebrated 
causes.  Here  is  an  example,  of  the 
commencement  of  the  13th  centu- 
ry. Guillaume  de  Cabestaing  was 
accused  by  Dame  Eleonore  de  Com- 
minge  with  misbehaviour  towards 
her  and  one  of  the  fair  followers  of 
the  laws  of  gallantry.  The  ladies 
summoned  as  judges  in  this  affair 
were,  Madame  de  Sabran,  the  Com- 
tesse  de  Forcalquier,  Mesdames 
d'Ampus,  de  Blacres,  de  Simiane, 
de  Villeneuve,  de  Turenne,  de  Mont- 
fort,  Marguerite  de  Tarascon,  the 
wife  of  Berenger,  Comte  de  Tou- 
louse, Dame  de  Vintimille,  the  lady 
of  the  town  of  Glandeves,  Mesdames 
de  Sault  and  de  Castellane,  the  Dame 
de  Pourrieres,  and  the  Comtesse  de 
Porcelet.  The  knights  belonged  to 
the  same  families,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Antoine  de  Boulins,  Claude 
de  Montauban,  and  several  others. 


Most  of  these  knights  had  returned 
from  beyond  sea:  they  had  fought 
against  the  Saracens  or  in  Bohemia, 
or  served  the  King  of  France.  All 
of  them  were  covered  with  honour- 
able scars. 

The  accused  stopped  outside  the 
barriers.  A  lady,  who  acted  as  he- 
rald, summoned  him  three  times ;  he 
appeared  within  the  inclosure,  where 
another  female  took  him  by  the  hand, 
saying,  "  Young  gentleman,  leave 
your  arms  outside  the  barriers :  you 
need  no  other  arms  for  ladies  than 
your  politeness  and  courtesy ;  only 
add  thereto  a  deeire  to  please,  and 
you  will  be  sure  to  succeed." 

When  he  heard  the  complaint  pre- 
ferred against  him  by  Dame  Elcc- 
nore,  and  that  of  her  waiting-damsel, 
he  blushed ;  for  he  was  sincere,  and 
too  sincere  not  to  be  embarrassed. 
He  knew  not  how  to  defend  himself, 
and  was  fearful  of  offending  his  ami- 
able judges.  He  was  not  aware  that 
this  was  one  of  those  causes  which 
the  court  had  selected  for  the  sake 
of  amusement.  He  applied  for  an 
advocate,  and  he  was  permitted  to 
choose  one  himself  from  among  his 
judges.  Having  approached  Dame 
Marguerite,  he  fell  upon  one  knee 
and  presented  his  glove  to  her.  Dame 
Marguerite  took  it  blushing,  and  sta- 
tioned herself  at  a  little  distance  from 
her  client,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 

barriers. The  defence  was  heard 

with  profound  attention  and  interest, 
and  generally  applauded.  Enchant- 
ed with  the  eloquence  of  Dame  Mar- 
guerite, the  accused  threw  himself 
at  her  feet  to  express  his  gratitude. 
"  The  court,"  said  an  usher,  "  per- 
mits you  to  kiss  your  advocate's 
cheek."  There  was  no  need  to  re- 
peat this  intimation.  The  Sieur  Ray- 
mond, the  husband  of  the  fair  lady, 
3  A  % 


.354 


COURTS   OF   LOVli   IN    THE   AOGS   OF   CHIVALRY. 


would  have  protested  against  it,  but 
bursts  of  laughter  were  the  only  an- 
swer he  received.  The  young  gen- 
tleman was  then  presented  to  each  of 
the  ladies,  and  kissed  the  hands  of 
them  all.  There  was  not  one  but 
squeezed  that  of  the  gentle  Guil- 
laume ;  such  is  the  power  of  youth 
and  beauty  over  the  hearts  of  the 
fair!  He  retired  while  his  judges 
delivered  their  votes. 

A  monk  who  was  present  then  de- 
manded vengeance,  crying,  "  Listen 
one  moment,  honourable  ladies!" — 
Universal  silence  ensued.  "  I  will  be 
as  brief  as  possible,"  continued  the 
monk.  "  This  youth,  if  you  were 
to  believe  Dame  Marguerite,  is  a 
perfect  lamb;  but  I — yes,  I — who  am 
addressing  you,  know  something  more 
of  his  pranks,  which  these  eyes  have 
witnessed.  A  young  and  beautiful 
peasant-girl,  daughter  of  a  serf  to 
our  monastery — O  the  wretch !  how 
he  did  kiss  her!  But  for  my  pre- 
sence, I  know  not  to  what  extremities 
he  might  have  proceeded.  This 
thought  is  almost  as  galling  as  the 
unworthy  cords  by  which  I  appear 
at  this  moment  bound  before  you.M 

At  this  speech  of  the  monk's  the 
whole  assembly  could  scarcely  sup- 
press its  laughter.  Dame  Margue- 
rite was  the  only  one  who  maintained 
her  gravity.  "  What  say  you  to 
this,  young  gentleman?"  asked  a  he- 
rald. At  this  moment  Dame  Mar- 
guerite rose  to  address  the  court, 
when  a  village-damsel,  beautiful  as 
an  angel,  brisk  as  a  Love,  and  fresh 
as  one  of  the  Graces,  darted  through 
the  crowd,  and  cried,  "  Hear  me ! 
hear  me !"  It  was  the  damsel  of  whom 
the  monk  had  just  spoken.  A  large 
hat  overshadowed  her  lovely  face; 
she  had  put  on  her  best  apparel,  and 
adorned  herself  with  ribbons,  to  be 


present  at  the  sentence  of  the  court, 
less  from  curiosity  than  to  see  the 
young  gentleman  again — for  he  had 
made  on  her  heart  one  of  those  im- 
pressions that  are  not  so  easily  ef- 
faced. "  Hear  me,  ladies!"  said  she. 
"  This  handsome  young  gentleman 
took  nothing  from  me  by  force.  You 
are  well  aware  that  our  favours  are 
not  to  be  stolen  from  us  against  our 
will.  Who  in  my  place  would  not 
have  shewn  the  same  complaisance 
towards  her  deliverer?  He  rescued 
me,  not  without  a  struggle,  from  the 
grasp  of  that  vile  monk;  and  you 
will  believe  me,  most  honourable  la- 
dies, when  I  assure  you,  that  it  seem- 
ed as  though  I  had  passed  from  the 
arms  of  the  devil  into  those  of  an 
angel." — The  young  villager  was  so 
beautiful,  so  unaffected — who  could 
help  excusing  her?  Dame  Margue- 
rite, who  had  a  tender  heart,  thought 
the  case  extremely  venial.  The  whole 
court,  and  the  knights  in  particular, 
eyed  the  girl  with  looks  expressive 
of  admiration,  and  also  of  their  envy 
of  the  young  gentleman  who  had 
made  such  a  conquest. 

The  court  commanded  silence,  and 
Elise  de  Turenne,  the  president,  pro- 
nounced sentence  as  follows :  "  There 
is  nothing  punishable  in  your  con- 
duct, gentle  youth.  You  have  acted 
as  you  ought  to  do  in  regard  to  the 
damsel.  You  were  not  aware  of  the 
nature  of  your  duty  to  Dame  Eleo- 
nore.  The  court  acquits  you,  and 
merely  recommends  to  you  to  be  less 
embarrassed,  less  timid,  and  more 
courteous  to  the  ladies  :  it  commands 
you  therefore  to  take  of  us  lessons 
of  politeness.  It  is  the  duty  of  a 
knight  to  strive  to  please,  to  make 
love  truly  and  honourably,  and  to  be 
discreet.  At  any  age  ladies  are  ca- 
pable of  loving,  and  of  expecting  a 


COURTS    OF   LOVn    IN    THE    AGES    OF    CHIVALRY. 


355 


just  return.  Beware  of  slighting 
those  who  are  past  the  hey-day  of 
youth:  it  is  then  that  honour  and 
delicacy  are  particularly  requisite. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  lady  of 
your  thoughts  will  forgive  the  ad- 
venture with  the  damsel.  As  to  the 
monk,  let  him  be  released  from  his 
bonds,  and  condemned  to  say  his 
prayers;  and  the  court  particularly 
recommends  to  the  knights  to  cut  off 
his  nose,  if  he  should  ever  presume 
to  meddle  with  peasant-girls  again. 
It  is  quite  enough  for  a  man  of  his 
class  to  say  his  prayers,  and  to  give 
us  absolution." 

Thus  ended  this  trial.  Several 
other  sentences  of  the  same  kind  are 
recorded  in  various  works  which 
treat  of  the  Courts  of  Love.  The 
collection  of  laws,  which  probably 
date  from  the  beginning  of  the  12th 
century,  and  which  served  to  guide 
the  resolutions  and  decisions  of  the 
Courts  of  Love,  are  as  follows : 

RULES    OF    LOVE. 

1.  Marriage  cannot  be  a  legiti- 
mate ground  of  exemption  from  love. 

^.Whoever  cannot  dissemble  ought 
not  to  love. 

3.  No  one  can  wear  the  chains  of 
a  twofold  love. 

4.  It  is  certain  that  love  augments 
or  diminishes. 

5.  The  favour  which  a  lover  snatch- 
es from  his  mistress  against  her  will 
cannot  but  prove  insipid. 

6.  A  man  does  not  begin  to  love 
truly  till  of  mature  age. 

7.  The  surviving  one  of  two  lovers 
must  observe  a  widowhood  of  two 
years. 

8.  A  person  ought  not  to  be  de- 
prived of  his  amours  without  a  very 
weighty  reason. 

9.  He  only  is  capable  of  loving 
who  feels  the  necessity  of  loving. 


10.  Love  is  incompatible  with 
avarice. 

11.  You  should  not  love  any  but 
those  with  whom  you  would  not  be 
ashamed  to  ally  yourself. 

12.  The  real  lover  desires  nothing 
but  the  kindness  of  her  whom  he  loves. 

13.  Love  divulged  can  seldom  sub- 
sist long. 

14.  An  easy  conquest  causes  love 
to  be  underrated ;  a  difficult  one  en- 
hances its  value. 

15.  Every  lover  is  accustomed  to 
turn  pale  at  the  sight  of  his  mistress. 

16.  The  heart  of  the  lover  throbs 
at  the  sight  of  the  beloved  object. 

17.  Fresh  passions  compel  the  old 
ones  to  give  way. 

18.  Integrity  alone  can  render  any 
one  worthy  of  love. 

19.  When  love  begins  to  decline,  it 
soon  languishes,  and  seldom  recovers. 

20.  The  lover  is  always  timid. 

21.  Real  jealousy  serves  only  to 
increase  the  passion  of  love. 

22.  When  suspicion  arises  between 
lovers,  jealousy  and  the  flames  of 
love  become  more  fierce. 

23.  When  the  thoughts  of  love 
torment,  the  lover  sleeps  and  eats 
less  for  it. 

24.  Every  action  of  a  lover  is  ac- 
companied with  a  thought  of  his  be- 
loved. 

25.  The  real  lover  is  gratified  with 
nothing  but  what  he  thinks  likely  to 
please  his  mistress. 

26.  Love  cannot  refuse  any  thing 
to  love. 

27.  Love  cannot  be  satiated  by 
the  consolations  of  love. 

28.  A  slight  distrust  compels  one 
of  two  lovers  to  conceive  bad  sus- 
picions of  the  other. 

29.  Whoever  loves  truly  is  con- 
tinually haunted  by  the  image  of  the 
beloved  object. 


r>56 


ORIGINAL  LETTERS  FROM  THE  LATE  COUNT  VOLNEY 


Paris,  April  6,  1818. 

Your  last  letter,  sir,  recalls  to  my 
memory  an  anecdote  which  I  have 
heard  related  hy  Baron  Holbach, 
who  knew  many  instructive  ones. 
Diderot  chanced  to  be  in  company 
where  the  conversation  turned  on  the 
pleasures  of  the  country,  which  were 
painted  in  such  lively  colours,  that 
Diderot's  imagination  took  fire,  and 
he  became  immediately  desirous  of 
passing  some  time  out  of  town.  But 
whither  to  go  was  the  question.  The 
governor  of  the  Chateau  de  Meudon 
came  to  Paris ;  he  knew  Diderot, 
learned  his  desire,  and  offered  him 
an  apartment  in  the  chateau.  Dide- 
rot went  to  see  it,  was  enchanted, 
declared  that  he  should  never  be 
happy  till  he  was  there,  and  returned 
immediately  to  town.  The  summer 
passed  without  his  revisiting  the 
country ;  a  second  summer  was  near- 
ly over,  and  still  he  had  not  left  Paris. 

One  day  in  the  month  of  Septem- 
ber, Diderot  met  the  poet  Delille, 
who  came  up  to  him,  saying,  "  I  have 
been  looking  for  you,  my  friend  :  I 
am  engaged  upon  my  poem;  I  long 
for  solitude,  that  I  may  write  without 
interruption.  Madame  d'Houdetot 
tells  me  that  you  have  a  pretty  apart- 
ment at  Meudon,  to  which  you  never 
go "— "  My  dear  abb£,"  inter- 
rupted Diderot,  "  hear  me.  We 
must  all  have  something  to  look  for- 
ward to:  it  is  necessary  for  our  hap- 
piness to  have  always  some  favourite 
object  in  view :  but  if  once  it  is  at- 
tained, it  charms  no  longer.  I  don't 
go  to  Meudon,  but  I  say  to  myself 
every  morning,  I  shall  go  to-morrow. 
If  I  had  not  this  little  place  I  should 
not  be  happy,  at  least  not  till  I  had 
found  something  else  to  wish  for." 


You,  sir,  who  live  in  the  country, 
place  your  happiness  in  the  idea  of 
going  to  town ;  but  let  the  example 
of  Diderot  be  useful  to  you.  You 
tell  me  your  life  is  so  serene,  your 
days  fully  occupied  appear  so  short, 
that  you  have  no  ennui  even  in  win- 
ter, and  your  greatest  trouble  is  the 
idea  of  undertaking  a  journey,  how- 
ever short  it  may  be.  Take  care 
then  that  you  do  not  for  an  uncer- 
tain future  sacrifice  a  present  good. 
Has  not  the  town  also  its  inconve- 
niences? Can  you  enjoy  there  those 
pleasures  which  you  now  possess? 
Can  you  take  that  regular  exercise 
which  at  present  renders  you  so 
healthy?  Shall  you  have  even  one 
domestic  faithful  and  attentive?  De- 
pend upon  it,  you  have  now  the  true 
philosopher's  stone.  While  there 
remains  any  morality  in  the  country, 
a  man  may,  by  doing  good  while  he 
lives,  always  attach  to  himself  a  faith- 
ful servant.  I  say  while  he  lives, 
because  to  promise  something  after 
one's  death  is  in  effect  to  encourage 
others  to  wish  for  it. 

I  repeat,  take  great  care  not  to 
make  yourself  a  slave  to  an  old  en- 
gagement taken  under  other  circum- 
stances and  in  very  different  dispo- 
sitions of  the  mind.  The  thought 
of  this  engagement  of  your's  recalls  to 
my  memory  a  Dutchman,  a  singular 
character,  who  was  formerly  ambas- 
sador to  Japan,  whom  I  was  acquaint- 
ed with  in  Paris.  Titsingh,  that  was 
his  name,  said  to  me  one  day  in  Fe- 
bruary, "  I  shall  set  out  on  the  6th 
of  next  September  at  seven  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  to  see  my  sister  at 
Amsterdam;  I  shall  arrive  on  the 
12th  at  four  o'clock."  If  he  lost 
half  an  hour  he  was   unhappy.     I 


•3  rn 


ANECDOTES,    &C    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND    PERSONAL.  3.J/ 


have  been  a  little  like  him :  formerly 
I  was  a  precise  man;  I  am  pretty 
well  cured  of  that  now.  I  regulate 
circumstances;  they  do  not  govern 
me.  Every  year,  when  the  return 
of  winter  brings  with  it  ennui,  I  speak 
of  going  into  Provence;  and  when 
the  moment  arrives  for  my  departure, 
I  sink  into  my  easy  chair,  order  a 
large  fire  as  a  substitute  for  the  sun, 
and  say  to  myself,  Ah !  what  a  good 
thing  it  is  to  have  a  comfortable  home! 
Let  us  use  each  day  without  too 
much  solicitude  for  the  ensuing:  pru- 
dence, it  is  true,  goes  for  something 
in  one's  concerns;  but  after  all,  how 
much  more  must  depend  upon  chance ! 
"  I  am  the  youngest  of  the  senate," 
said  Fargue  to  me  one  day  ;  and  he 
gave  me  a  long  account  of  all  the 
things  he  intended  to  do.  Ten  days 
afterwards  we  buried  him.  I  ex- 
pected to  die  every  year  from  1802 
to  1805,  and  yet  here  I  am  in  1819. 
All  must  be  as  God  pleases :  let  us 
then  leave  the  future  to  him,  and 
not  torment  ourselves  by  solicitudes, 
which  can  avail  nothing. 


EXTRACT  OF  ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM 
THE    SAME. 

You  remark  very  justly  that  so- 


ciety, so  far  from  being  an  amuse- 
ment, has  become  an  embarrassment, 
and  that  solitude  is  not  less  a  good 
than  a  want.  This  brings  to  my 
mind  what  I  once  heard  Franklin  say 
at  the  age  of  thirty.  I  could  not 
comprehend  his  speech,  but  now  I 
understand  it  perfectly  well.  We 
were  with  Madame  Helvetius,  whose 
husband,  as  you  know,  wrote  a  bad 
poem.  We  talked  and  reasoned  a 
great  deal;  Franklin  was  more  silent 
than  the  rest.  "  My  dear  Franklin," 
said  Madame  Helvetius  to  him,  "  I 
love  to  think  that  you  are  happy." — • 
"  I  become  more  and  more  so  every 
day,"  replied  he:  "  I  never  had  the 
malady  of  finding  myself  unfortu- 
nate. At  first  poor,  then  rich,  I  was 
always  satisfied  with  what  I  possess- 
ed, without  troubling  myself  about 
what  I  had  not:  but  since  I  grow 
old,  since  my  passions  are  extinguish- 
ed, I  feel  a  peace  of  mind  which  it 
is  impossible  to  know  at  the  age  of 
these  young  men,"  looking  at  Caba- 
nis  and  me.  "  At  that  age  the  soul 
is  without,  at  mine  it  is  within;  it  re- 
gards as  from  a  window  the  bustle 
of  the  passengers,  but  takes  no  part 
in  their  quarrels." 


ANECDOTES,  &c. 
HISTORICAL,  LITERARY,  AND  PERSONAL. 


THOMAS    a    BECKET. 

It  is  little  known  that  Thomas  a 
Becket,  so  formidable  to  Henry  II. 
of  England,  was  on  his  mother's  side 
of  Saracen  descent.  His  father,  Gil- 
bert Becket,  was  a  soldier  in  the  Cru- 
sades; and  being  made  prisoner,  be- 
came slave  to  an  emir,  or  Saracen 
prince.  He  obtained  the  confidence 
of  his  master,  and  having  opportu- 
nities of  seeing  his  daughter,    she 


conceived  a  violent  passion  for  him. 
He  escaped  from  bondage,  and  the 
lady  followed  him.  All  she  knew 
of  English  was  the  name  of  London 
and  that  of  Gilbert  Becket;  yet  she 
sot  on  board  a  vessel,  and  arrived 
safely  in  England.  She  travelled  to 
London,  and  went  through  every 
street  repeating  Gilbert  Becket,  and 
by  some  fortunate  incident  met  with 
the  object  who  had  won  her  faithful 


35o  ANECDOTES,    &C.    HISTORICAL,    LITERARY,    AND   PERSONAL. 


heart.  He  had  become  a  pi'osperous 
citizen,  but  did  not  prove  ungrateful 
to  the  benefactress  who  had  soothed 
his  captivity.  He  married  her,  and 
she  became  the  mother  of  Thomas 
a  Becket,  at  whose  tomb  one  of  the 
greatest  monarchs  of  England  sub- 
mitted to  the  scourge  of  monkish  ar- 
rogance. 


ROYAL    KNIGHT-ERRANTRY. 

James  the  Sixth  of  Scotland,  and 
First  of  England,  paid  his  addresses 
to  the  daughter  of  Frederic  II.  of 
Denmark ;  but  his  ministers,  instigat- 
ed as  it  is  said  by  Queen  Elizabeth, 
required  such  terms,  as  made  Frede- 
ric conclude  that  the  Scottish  king 
was  not  seriously  disposed  for  the  alli- 
ance. He  therefore  gave  his  daugh- 
ter to  the  Duke  of  Brunswick.  James 
imputed  the  failure  of  his  matrimonial 
treaty  to  some  misconduct  of  his 
ministers;  and  nothing  discourag- 
ed, sent  proposals  to  Anne,  second 
daughter  to  the  Danish  monarch ;  and 
though  Elizabeth  endeavoured  to 
mar  the  attempt,  by  recommending 
Catherine,  daughter  of  the  King  of 
Navarre,  he  persisted  in  his  choice, 
and  finding  his  ministers  obstinately 
bent  against  it,  he  secretly  encourag- 
ed the  citizens  of  Edinburgh  to  take 
arms.  They  threatened  to  tear  the 
chancellor  in  pieces,  if  he  disappoint- 
ed the  wishes  of  the  king  and  the 
expectations  of  the  people.  In  con- 
sequence of  this  impressive  argu- 
ment, a  splendid  embassy,  conducted 
by  the  earl  marshal,  was  sent  to  Den- 
mark. The  marriage  was  soon  agreed 
upon,  and  the  young  queen  set  sail 
for  Scotland.  James  ordered  great 
preparations  for  her  reception,  and 
impatiently  waited  her  arrival,  when 
the  sad  tidings  arrived,  that  her  fleet 


was  driven  back  to  Norway  in  a  shat- 
tered condition.  The  king  instantly 
fitted  out  some  ships,  and  without 
communicating  his  intention  to  any 
of  his  council,  sailed  in  person,  at- 
tended by  the  chancellor,  with  several 
noblemen,  and  a  train  of  three  hun- 
dred persons,  in  quest  of  his  bride. 
He  arrived  safely  in  a  small  harbour 
not  far  from  Upslo,  where  she  was 
lying.  The  marriage  was  solemnized, 
and  the  royal  pair  accepted  an  invi- 
tation to  Copenhagen,  where  they 
passed  several  months  in  feasting 
and  diversions,  and  waited  for  a  more 
favourable  season  for  crossing  the  sea 
to  their  own  dominions. 


PYRAMIDS. 

The  Pyramids  of  Egypt  are  per- 
haps the  oldest  monuments  of  human 
labour.  Those  of  Mexico,  scarcely 
less  considerable,  have  their  origin 
hid  in  the  night  of  antiquity.  Hum- 
boldt is  of  opinion  that  these  monu- 
ments should  be  classed  with  the  py- 
ramidal edifices  of  Asia,  of  which 
traces  are  found  even  in  Arcadia:  for 
the  conical  mausoleum  of  Calistus 
was  a  true  tumulus,  and  served  for 
a  base  to  a  small  temple  consecrated 
to  Diana.  Humboldt  remarks  with 
astonishment  the  striking  similarity 
of  the  Asiatic  and  Egyptian  pyra- 
mids to  those  of  Mexico.  Another 
remarkable  coincidence  in  the  tastes 
or  habits  of  some  civilized  people  is 
the  addiction  to  astrology,  alchemy, 
or  some  resembling  self-delusion. 
Ali  Bey  found  that  the  Moors  con- 
founded astronomy  with  astrology  ; 
and  we  find  that  all  nations,  wlule 
groping  their  way  in  the  paths  of  true 
science,  are  for  a  time  misled  by  fal- 
lacious lights. 


35Q 


MUSICAL  REVIEW. 


The  Sej  -Songs  of  Charles 
Dibdin,  with  a  Memoir  of  his 
Life  and  Writings,  by  William 
Kitchiner. — (Whitaker,  Ave-Ma- 
ria-lane,  and  Clementi  and  Co. 
Cheapside.) 

The  effect  which  Dibdin's  naval 
songs  produced  among  the  sailors  of 
Great  Britain  is  notorious  and  uni- 
versally admitted,  even  on  the  part 
of  government,  from  whom  his  wi- 
dow enjoys  a  pension  of  100/.  per 
annum.     These  songs,  as  he  truly 
states  in  his  autobiography,  "  have 
been  the  solace  of  sailors  in  long- 
voyages,  in  storms,    in  battle;    and 
they  have  been  quoted  in  mutinies,  to 
the  restoration  of  order  and  disci- 
pline."    With  all  their  humour  and 
jollity,  they  possess  the  rare  merit  of 
pure  loyalty,  patriotism,  and  morality; 
a  circumstance  which  drew  from  the 
late  Dr.  Knox,  the  observation,  that 
Dibdin  "  was  the  only  man  he  ever 
knew  who  could    convey  a  sermon 
through  the  medium  of  a  comic  song." 
In  his  profession,  Mr.  Dibdin  evinc- 
ed an  unceasing  and  indefatigable  in- 
dustry, which  is  perhaps  without  ex- 
ample.    "  I  have  written,"  he  says, 
"  in  the  course  of  my  life,  exclusive 
of  my  entertainments  of  Sans  Souci, 
nearly  seventy  dramatic  pieces,   of 
different  descriptions,  besides  having 
set  to  music  fifteen  or  sixteen,  the 
productions  of  other  writers.     In  the 
whole  of  those  which  I  have  invent- 
ed and  brought  forward,  are  includ- 
ed more  than  NINE  hundred  songs; 
a   number,    I   should   imagine,    not 
again   to   be  found  in  the   English 
language,  nearl}'  two  hundred  of  which 
have  been  repeatedly  encored,  and 
Vol.  II.  No.  XII. 


perhaps  twice  that  number  have  been 
sung  in  public  companies ;  and  among 
them  will  be  found  about  ninety  sea- 
songs." 

It  is  to  this  latter  class  that  the 
present  publication  is  appropriated, 
the  volume  before  us  (part  the  first) 
containing  twenty-six  sea-songs,  and 
three  more  parts  being  intended  to 
conclude  the  work.  The  propriety 
of  making  and  arranging  this  collec- 
tion is  self-evident,  and  the  accom- 
plishment of  the  task,  so  far  as  it  has 
proceeded,  entitles-  its  estimable  au- 
thor to  the  thanks  of  the  vocal  ama- 
teur and  British  public  in  general,  in 
addition  to  the  numerous  other  obli- 
gations which  every  class  of  society 
owes  to  Dr.  Kitchiner.  With  an  in- 
tellect stored  with  the  most  varied  ac- 
quirements, a  mind  breathing  loyalty 
and  patriotism,  and  a  heart  full  of 
kindness  and  benevolence  towards 
the  whole  human  race,  the  life  of  Dr. 
K.  seems  exclusively  to  be  devoted 
to  the  benefit  and  the  innocent  plea- 
sures of  the  public  at  large. 

Strongly  impressed  as  we  are  with 
these  feelings,  and  fully  sensible  as 
we  are, of  the  meritorious  undertak- 
ing of  editing  these  songs  collective- 
ly,  our  critical  office  renders  it  our 
duty  to  advert  to  one  or  two  imper- 
fections we  have  observed  in  the  pe- 
rusal of  the  work.  In  the  musical 
portion  we  have  observed  several  ty- 
pographical errors;  and  the  accom- 
paniment, however  authentically  Dib- 
dinian  it  may  be,  is  exceedingly  na- 
ked :  its  primitive  barrenness,  suita- 
ble to  the  meridian  of  1770  and  1780, 
will  appear  but  plain  fare  to  palates 
of  1823;  and,  if  we  go  on  in  musi- 
3  B 


sm 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


cal  bonne  cliere  as  we  have  clone  for 
these  twenty  years,  it  is  a  question 
whether  the  epicurism  in  another 
dozen  of  years  will  not  be  such  as  to 
refuse  even  a»  taste  of  the  solitary 
fundamental  crotchets  in  Mr.  Dib- 
din's  accompaniments.  We  are  quite 
aware  of  the  arguments  we  may  have 
to  encounter  on  this  subject — authen- 
ticity, general  accessibility,  &c.  But 
we  are  nevertheless  of  opinion,  that 
if  Dibdin  had  found  in  Dr.  K.  what 
Handel  found  in  Mozart,  the  object 
of  the  present  work  would  have  been 
considerably  forwarded. 

The  biographical  memoir  prefixed 
to  the  music  is,  we  presume,  to  be 
continued  in  the  succeeding  parts  of 
the  work.  As  far  as  it  is  before  us, 
it  consists  more  of  large  extracts  from 
Mr.  Dibdin' s  autobiography,  than  of 
original  narrative,  and  the  arrange- 
ment of  these  materials  wovdd  have 
been  susceptible  of  a  greater  degree 
of  order  and  method :  an  observa- 
tion which  we  submit  with  a  view  to 
draw  Dr.  K.'s  attention  to  the  por- 
tion of  the  memoir  not  yet  published. 
In  p.  10,  flattering  mention  is  made 
of  Mr.  Dibdin's  sons,  now  living;  and 
in  p.  15  it  is  stated,  that  of  the  five 
children  he  had  (three  sons  and  two 
daughters)  all  died,  except  one 
daughter. 

The  favourite  Airs  in  Rossini's  Ope- 
ra   of   RlCCIARDO    E    ZORAIDE, 

arranged  for  the  Piano-forte ;  with 
an  Accompaniment  for  the  Flute, 
by  T.  Latour.  Books  I.  II.  and 
III.  Pr.  6s.  each. — (Chappelland 

Co.  New  Bond-street.) 

The  opera  of  Ricciardo  e  Zoraide, 
although  not  one  of  the  best  drama- 
tic compositions  of  Rossini,  and  pret- 
ty well  stocked  with  reminiscences 
and  imitations  from  his  prior  works, 


was  favourably  received  at  the  King's 
Theatre,  not  only  because  the  parts 
were  extremely  well  cast,  but  be- 
cause it  was  found  to  contain  several 
pieces  of  a  really  superior  order,  and 
some  very  original  melodies  and  com- 
binations. Of  these,  the  trio  between 
Madame  Camporese,  Madame  Ves- 
tris,  and  Signor  Garcia,  appeared 
the  most  conspicuous  and  interesting; 
a  duet  too  between  these  two  ladies 
contained  some  new  and  beautiful 
ideas;  and  the  choruses,  although 
indifferently  sung,  were  written  with 
skill  and  force. 

The  work,  therefore,  as  a  whole, 
deserved  the  labour  required  to  ren- 
der it  accessible  to  mere  piano-forte 
players ;  and  Mr.  Latour  is  entitled 
to  our  thanks  for  having  undertaken 
the  task,  and  more  so,  for  having 
accomplished  it  in  a  very  satisfactory 
manner.  The  three  books  will  be 
found  to  include  a  rich  store  of  amuse- 
ment to  the  lovers  of  Italian  music  ; 
to  us  they  have  afforded  many  pleas- 
ing recollections  of  the  performance 
at  the  Opera-House.  The  arrange- 
ment, effective  as  it  is,  has  moreover 
the  merit  of  being  destitute  of  any 
executive  intricacies:  all  that  is  want- 
ed is  steady  time  and  proper  expres- 
sion ;  not  a  p  or  f  or  any  mark  of 
expression,  must  be  left  unattended 
to.  This  caution  is  particularly  ne- 
cessary in  piano-forte  extracts  from 
operatic  music,  and  doubly  so  in  Ros- 
sini's works.  The  flute-part  did  not 
appear  to  us  to  add  greatly  to  the 
performance,  and  may  therefore  be 
dispensed  with,  without  particular 
inconvenience. 

Impromtu  on  the  favourite  Irish  Air, 
"  The  Bard's  Request,"  for  the 
Piano-forte,  composed  by  Frede- 
rick Kalkbrenner.  Op.G9.  Pr.4s. 
— (Chappell  and  Co.) 


MUSICAL    UEVILW. 


361 


This  difficult  "  Impromtu"  may  be 
considered  as  a  monument  erected  by 
the  author  to  the  extraordinary  mu- 
sical precocity  of  a  child,  stated  to 
be  nine  years  old,  the  little  Miss 
Schauroth  from  Germany,  who  play- 
ed it  last  summer  in  public  at  the 
Argyle  -  Rooms.  Supposing  (what 
we  suspect)  her  age  to  be  somewhat 
more,  the  circumstance  would  still  be 
inconceivable,  if  the  fact  were  not 
within  fresh  recollection. 

But  without  reference  to  the  oc- 
casion which  produced  this  improm- 
tu, and  probably  at  very  short  no- 
tice, the  composition  deserves  a  fa- 
vourite place  in  every  amateur's  col- 
lection. It  consists  of  variations,  it 
is  true;  but  for  the  purpose  in  view, 
nothing  was  better  calculated;  and 
when  they  are  written  so  entirely  con 
amove,  we  cannot  help  relaxing  in 
our  antipathies.  The  introductory 
capriccio  is  masterly ;  the  second  va- 
riation fascinating ;  the  adagio  (var.  5.) 
full  of  deep  feeling ;  the  waltz  move- 
ment, in  the  Vienna  style,  full  of 
sweet  briskness;  the  modulations, 
p.  14,  genial  and  striking:  in  short, 
the  whole  is  a  happy  effort,  perfectly 
classic. 

"  Les  belles  Flenrs,"  consisting  of 
select  Pieces  from  the  Works  of 
the  most  celebrated  Authors,  se- 
lected, and  most  of  them  newly  ar- 
ranged, for  the  Piano-forte  and 
Flute.     Nos.  I.  and  II.     Pr.4s. 
each. — (Chappell  and  Co.) 
The   arrangement  of  the   piano- 
forte part  is  by  Mr.  Bruguier,  that 
of  the  flute  by  Mr.  Sola.     The  lat- 
ter is   not   only  indispensable,   but 
written  in  a  style  of  elegance  and  ef- 
fectiveness which   must  render  the 
performance  delightful,  wherever  a 
flute-player  of  adequate  abilities  can 
be  called  in :  it  is  in  this  way  that  ac- 


companiments should  be  written,  not 
mere  hangers-on,  fifth  wheels  to  a 
waggon.  Mr.  Bruguier's  share  of 
the  arrangement  also  claims  our  ap- 
probation. 

The  first  book  is  devoted  to  a  com- 
position of  Mr.  Bochsa's,  consisting 
of  an  adagio,  allegro,  theme  with 
variation,  &c. ;  and  the  second  con- 
tains Rossini's  air  "  Di  piacer  mi 
balza  il  cor." 

Rode's   celebrated  Air,   sung  with 

the  greatest  applause  by  Madame 

Catalani,   with    an   Introduction 

and  Variations  for  the  Piano-forte, 

composed  by  J.  B.  Cramer.     Pr. 

2s.  6d.— (Chappell  and  Co.) 

There  is  some  ambiguity  in  this 

title,  the  right  interpretation  of  which 

we  take  to  be,  that  these  variations 

are  made  by  Mr.  C.  upon  a  theme  of 

Rode's,  with  variations  for  the  violin, 

which  Madame  Catalani  sung  at  her 

late  concerts  here,  and  which  she  had 

better  kept  to  herself.    The  idea  was 

of  bad  taste,  quite  a  perversion  of 

the   rightful   province  of  vocal  art, 

something  like   the    Minuet  dc   la 

Cour  danced But  enough.     We 

have  often  listened  with  wonder  and 
delight  at  the  legitimate  efforts  of 
Madame  C.'s  unrivalled  powei*s.  The 
fame  of  these  is  established  and 
spread  over  all  Europe,  and  needs 
not  any  accession  from  an  imitation 
of  cat-gut. 

Mr.  Cramer's  variations  upon  this 
sweet  air  (as  we  must  be  dosed  with 
variations)  are,  for  the  most  part,  of 
a  superior  order.  The  first,  for  in- 
stance, is  woven  with  extreme  deli- 
cacy ;  and  No.  o.  in  G  minor,  exhi- 
bits some  very  original  strokes  of  ima- 
gination:but  amidst  these  good  things, 
there  is  matter  of  a  more  common 
j  cast,  such  as  in  var.  5.  The  intro- 
ductory largo,  however  brief,  exhi- 
3B2   ' 


mi 


MUSICAL    REVIEW. 


bits  the  master ;  the  few  staves  are 
replete  with  taste  and  feeling. 
Romance  by  II.  R.  Bishop,  arrang- 
ed as  a  Rondo  for  the  Piano- 
forte, with  an  Introduction,  com- 
posed,  and  dedicated  to  Miss  Lucy 
Rooke,  by  J.  B.  Cramer.  Pr.  3s. 
— (Goulding  and  Co.  Soho-square.) 
The  rondo  is  introduced  by  a  short 
movement  (rather  of  slow  motion  we 
should  guess,  for  Mr.  Cramer  seems 
to  have  given  up  marking  the  tempo 
metronomically) .  The  direction  is 
"  risoluto  con  moto  :"  the  piece  ex- 
hibits some  fine  touches  of  plaintive 
expression,  and  has  bars  which 
strongly  remind  us  of  Beethoven's  Fu- 
neral March.  Mr.  Bishop's  melody, 
and  the  deductions  from  it,  are  treat- 
ed with  that  perfection  of  harmonic 
arrangement,  that  sweetness  and  ele- 
gance, which  the  works  of  no  other 
composer  exhibit  in  an  equally  con- 
spicuous degree :  several  of  the 
thoughts,  however,  are  far  from  be- 
ing original.  Some  fine  passages 
occur  pp.  4  and  5 ;  very  good  modu- 
lations are  brought  forth  in  p.  6;  and 
the  winding-up  possesses  peculiar 
freshness  and  energy. 

All  this  is  very  well,  and  the  pro- 
duction cannot  fail  of  being  attractive. 
But  when  we  look  over  our  portfo- 
lio, and  behold  a  mass  of  piano-forte 
publications  by  a  variety  of  authors, 
some  of  them  great  in  name  and 
fame,  all  of  which,  instead  of  being 
originals,  present  us  with  rondos  up- 
on such  and  such  a  theme ;  variations 
upon  this  or  that  favourite  melody ; 
divertimentos  or  fantasias  upon  opera- 
airs;  in  short,  nothing  but  other 
people's  things  dressed  up  with  new 
sauces,  plain  or  savoury,  we  cannot 
h.elp  feeling  deep  regret.  The  art 
must  be  on  the  decline  when  ori- 


ginality is  no  longer  the  proud  aim  of 
its  votaries. 

What  should  we  say  of  the  state 
of  painting  or  sculpture,  if  the  prin- 
cipal occupation  of  these  arts  were 
to  consist  in  selecting  some  favourite 
painting  or  statue  for  the  basis  of  a 
new  work — Titian's    Venus  at   one 
time  dressed  up  in  lace,  at  another 
placed  on  a  rich  couch,  or  represent- 
ed under  a  different  aspect;  Rubens's 
Chapeau  de  Paille  without  the  hat, 
but  the  hair  dressed  a  la  Grecque, 
or  with  a  turban  of  cashmire  shawl: 
the  Apollo  Belvedere  brought  forth 
in  the  costume  of  a  Polish  lancer  or 
a  Chinese  mandarin  ? 
Divertisement,  with  an  Introduction 
and  Allegretto   for    the  Piano- 
forte,   in    which    is    introduced 
"  Hark,  the  convent  bells  /"  from 
the  Second  Volume  of  "  The  Me- 
lodies of  various  Nations,''  by  F. 
Bayly,  Esq.  and  Sir  J.  A.  Steven- 
son; arranged,  and  dedicated  to 
Sir  John  A.  Stevenson,  Mus.  Doc. 
by  T.  A.  Rawlings.    Pr.  3s.  6d. — 
(Goulding  and  Co.) 
Mr.  R.  is  one  of  the  select  few 
English  piano-forte  composers  who 
have  studied  classic  foreign  models 
with  such  success,  that  their  works 
might  be  deemed  of  continental  ori- 
gin.     He   combines  science,    good 
taste,  and  freedom  of  imagination  in 
a  conspicuous  degree.     In  the  pre- 
sent divertisement  the  introduction 
attracts  attention  by  its  sweet  simpli- 
city.    The  hunting  theme  in  the  al- 
legretto is  pretty,  and  in  its  termina- 
tion we  perceive  a  vein  of  pathetic 
feeling.     Then  we  have  chimes,  and 
the  Portuguese  melody,  and  varia- 
tion thereupon ;  some  neat  thoughts 
present  themselves  in  the  sixth  page. 
The  theme  is  afterwards  cast  into  D, 


MUSICAL    RKVIEW. 


363 


and  some  interesting,  we  might  say, 
dramatic  ideas,  are  engrafted  upon 
it.  In  the  ninth  page  the  same  ideas 
are  ably  modulated  through  a  va- 
riety of  keys,  and  the  termination  is 
full  and  brilliant. 

"  Yes,  thou  art  gone!"  Ballad,  writ- 
ten by  Mrs.  Op'ie;  composed,  with 
an  Accompaniment  for  the  Harp 
or  Piano-forte,  by  G.  Kiallmark. 
Pr.  2s. — (Goulding  and  Co.) 
The  air  is  one  of  pleasing  simpli- 
city, although  there  is  a  considerable 
degree  of  sameness  in  the  constituent 
ideas.     The  whole  of  the  four  verses 
are  set  to  music,  that  is  to  say,  the 
melody  is  mainly  the  same  in  each; 
but,  independently  of  decisive  diver- 
sity in  the  accompaniment,  there  are 
also  melodic  variations,  not  only  upon 
the  same  harmony,  but  the  voice,  ac- 
cording to  the  text,  occasionally  de- 
viates into  different  harmonies.  This 
proceeding,  although  at  the  expense 
of  the  purchaser,  we  cannot  object 
to;  for  it  is  seldom  that  the  air  de- 
vised for  the  first  stanza  will  suit  all 
the    impressions    conveyed    by    the 
others ;  and  the  idea  in  the  present 
case,  together  with  the  tasteful  va- 
rieties of  accompaniment,  contributes 
to  render  Mr.  Kiallmark's  labour  pe- 
culiarly interesting. 
"  Adieu,  adieu,  my  love!"  the  ad- 
mired Duet  sung  by  Madame  R. 
de  Begnis  and  Madame  Vestris  in 
the  Opera  il  La  Donna  delLago" 
composed   by   Signor    Rossini, — 
Pr.  Is— (Hodsoll,  High-Holborn.) 
The  words  are  both  Italian  and 
English,  and  the  latter  fit  very  fairly. 
The  arrangement   is  also  unexcep- 
tionable.    One  or  two  awkward  in- 
tonations in  the  melody,  and  some 
other  niceties,  are  above  the  sphere 
of  a  mere  ballad-singer,  and  much 


below  the  usual  female  scale.  For 
general  circulation,  we  should  have 
been  inclined  to  transpose  the  whole 
a  third  higher,  and  to  simplify  one 
or  two  passages. 

The  favourite  Air,  "  We're  a  ?wd- 
din,"   arranged  with    Variations 
for   the   Piano-forte    by   Samuel 
Poole.  Pr.ls.6d.-(Hodsoll,  High- 
Holborn.) 
Select  French  Romances,  No.  VII. 
"  Le  petit  Tambour,^  arranged  as 
a  Rondo  for  the  Piano-forte  by  S. 
F.  Rimbault.  Pr.  2s.— (Hodsoll.) 
These  two  publications  are  of  a 
nature  to  suit  the  abilities  of  players 
of  moderate  proficiency,  and  to  afford 
them  entertainment.  Mr.  Poole's  va- 
riations, without  deviating  from  the 
usual  routine,  are  imagined  in  a  fluent 
and  easy  style;  and  in  Mr.  Rimbault's 
"  Le  petit  Tambour"  we  meet  with 
all  those  features  of  recommendation, 
which  have  already  received  our  fa- 
vourable comment  in  the  review  of 
the  former  numbers  of  his  French 
Romances. 

"  County  Guy,"  sung  by  Miss  Wil- 
liams of  the  Royal  Vauxhall  Gar- 
dens; the  Poetry  from  "  Quentin 
Durward;"  the  Music  by  T.  A. 
Hughes,  Composer  and  Director 
of  the  Music  to  the  Royal  Coburg 
Theatre.  Pr.  2s. — (Fitzwilliam  and 
Co.) 

The  text  of  this  song  in  "  Quen- 
tin Durward"  is  given  with  the  fol- 
lowing remark :  "  And  as  the  tune 
is  lost  for  ever,  unless  Bishop  hap- 
pens to  find  the  notes,  or  some  lark 
teaches  Stephens  to  warble  the  air, 
we  will  risk  our  credit,  and  the  taste 
of  the  lady  of  the  lute,  by  preserving 
the  verses,  simple  and  even  rude  as 
they  are." 

Such  a  challenge,  as  may  be  sup- 


m 


LONDON    FASHIONS. 


posed,  was  quite  sufficient  to  excite 
among  our  tuneful  bards  a  general 
search  after  the  lost  treasure.  Mr. 
Hughes,  among  many  others,  was  on 
the  look-out,  and  found,  as  he  states, 
a  small  scroll  that  had  dropped  from 
the  paper,  which  Mr.  Bishop  picked 
up. 

In  our  opinion,  the  authentic  ori- 
ginal remains  still  fair  game  to  look 
for:  in  the  mean  time  we  should  be 
sorry  to  reject  some  of  the  booty 
which  the  chase  has  yielded;  and 
among  the  offerings  of  this  descrip- 
tion, we  place  the  result  of  Mr. 
Hughes's  industry.  His  "  County 
Guy"  presents  a  pretty  playful  melo- 
dy, fresh  and  effective,  correct  as  to 
rhythmical  arrangement  and  accom- 
paniment, and  particularly  active  and 
showy  in  its  conclusion.  The  song 
is  a  good  one. 

"  Thou  roUst  my  days  of  business 
and  delight"  composed,  with  an 
Accompaniment  for  the  Piano- 


forte,  by  W.Gutteridge.  Pr.  ls.6d. 

— (Fitzwilliam  and  Co.) 

There  are  some  objections  to  the 
text;  the  melody,  also,  is  of  too  grave 
a  cast,  and  contains  some  erroneous 
accentuation;  and  both  the  music  and 
words  present  typographical  mis- 
takes. But  the  composition  is  one 
of  decided  merit:  the  symphony  is 
good;  the  ah  is  imagined  with  taste 
and  feeling,  indeed  it  is  of  a  superior 
order;  and  the  same  praise  is  due  to 
the  accompaniment,  which  proceeds 
in  a  select  and  chaste  manner :  the 
component  parts  of  the  chords  are 
well  picked  out,  if  we  may  be  allow- 
ed the  expression ;  there  are  no  of- 
fensive or  unnecessaiy  duplications 
(a  great  and  rather  unfrequent  me- 
rit!); and  some  modulations,  such 
as  p.  3,  1.  2,  in  all  their  boldness, 
evince  a  skill,  and,  we  will  add,  an 
elevation  of  sentiment,  which  une- 
quivocally pronounce  the  author's 
talent  for  the  art. 


FASHIONS. 


LONDON  FASHIONS. 


FULL    DRESS. 

Dress  of  bright  poppy-colour  In- 
dia muslin,  ornamented  with  small 
sprigs  of  gold.  The  corsage  to  fit, 
with  an  elegant  stomacher,  composed 
of  double  rows  of  gold  lace,  placed 
diagonally  from  the  front  and  con- 
tinued over  the  shoulder;  the  outside 
formed  into  Vandykes:  short  full 
sleeve,  incased  in  bands  edged  with 
gold;  broad  gold  lace  band  round 
the  waist ;  tucker  of  narrow  blond. 
The  skirt  is  decorated  with  gold  lace, 
placed  flat  on  the  dress  in  perpendi- 
cular double  columns  of  different 
height ;  the  upper  part  finished  with 


a  wave,  and  the  highest  points  ter- 
minated with  three  unilateral  leaves 
of  gold  edged  with  very  narrow  blond ; 
broad  wadded  hem  at  the  bottom  of 
the  dress.  Turban  of  gold  and  pop- 
py-colour crtpe  lisse ;  the  frame  of 
alternate  rows  of  the  same  coloured 
satins  brought  to  a  point  in  front,  and 
satin  bands  of  French  folds  support- 
ing the  large  bouffants  of  crepe  lisse : 
short  coquelicot  feather  placed  on 
the  right  side.  Pearl  ear-rings,  brace- 
lets, and  necklace ;  blond  lace  scarf; 
French  trimmed  gloves,  and  white 
satin  shoes. 


p^m> 


IIT1L1L     JD)]RTE: 


■  • 


^lit 


EVTE  NILS'©-    BJRTESS 


■  -  ■. 


GENERAL    OBSERVATIONS    ON    FASHION    AND    DRESS. 


36^ 


EVENING    DRESS. 

British  lace  dress :  the  waist  ra- 
ther long,  and  the  corsage  plain, 
with  a  Farinet  tucker  of  fine  tulle, 
tied  in  front  by  a  bow  of  white  satin 
ribbon:  short  full  sleeve,  set  in  a 
white  satin  band ;  perpendicular  cord- 
ed satin  bands,  ornamented  halfway 
with  bows  of  white  satin  ribbon,  sup- 
port the  fulness  of  the  sleeve:  corded 
satin  ceinture;  rosette  of  corded  leaves 
behind,  with  a  highly  wrought  steel 
buckle  in  the  centre.  The  skirt  is  | 
trimmed  with  two  flounces  of  deep 
blond  lace,  arranged  in  festoons ;  and 
a  corded  satin  leaf,  pointing  down- 
wards, unites  three  narrow  satin  pi- 
pings that  head  each  flounce :  a  broad 
satin  rouleau  terminates  the  bottom 
of  the  dress.  The  hair  is  parted  on 
the  forehead,  and  in  light  curls  round 
the  face;  hind  hair  disposed  in  bows 
at  the  top  of  the  head,  and  a  gar- 
land of  flowers  is  placed  rather 
back.  Necklace  of  gold,  with  orna- 
ments in  front ;  ear-rings  and  brace- 
lets to  correspond.  White  kid  gloves, 
and  white  satin  shoes. 


GENERAL  OBSERVATIONS  ON  FASHION 
AND    DRESS. 

The  actual  state  of  promenade 
dress  at  this  moment  offers  little  ei- 
ther for  observation  or  description, 
nor  can  we  expect  it  should  afford 
us  much  room  for  either  before  next 
month,  that  being  the  period  in  which 
the  London  winter  may  properly  be 
said  to  begin. 

Fancy  and  taste  are,  however,  bu- 
sily employed  in  preparing  winter 
novelties,  several  of  which  have  been 
submitted  to  our  inspection ;  and  from 
these  we  select  what  we  consider 
most  worthy  of  the  attention  of  our 
fair  readers. 

One  of  the  most  striking  is  a  crim- 
son velvet  pelisse:   it  is  wadded,  and 


lined  with  crimson  sarsnet:  the  waist 
is  somewhat  longer  than  last  month  ; 
the  collar,  standing  out  from  the 
throat,  but  not  high,  falls  a  little 
over,  and  the  long  sleeve  sits  close 
to  the  arm.  A  full  rouleau  of  satin 
to  correspond  is  disposed  in  waves 
up  the  front  and  round  the  bottom; 
and  in  the  hollow  of  each  wave  is 
placed  a  branch  of  trefoil,  composed 
of  a  mixture  of  satin  and  chenille. 
Full  epaulette,  ornamented  with  tre- 
foil, disposed  irregularly  among  the 
fuiness :  the  bottom  of  the  long  sleeve 
is  also  ornamented  with  a  light  wreath 
of  trefoil. 

A  hat  and  spencer  of  dark  green 
velvet  are  also  remarkable  for  their 
novelty  and  elegance.  The  bust  of 
the  spencer  is  ornamented  with  a 
wreath  of  vine-leaves  in  satin,  two 
shades  lighter  than  the  spencer:  the 
half-sleeve,  made  very  full,  is  fanci- 
fully ornamented  with  vine-leaves, 
which  fall  over  the  point  of  the  shoul- 
der. Low  collar,  finished  at  the  edge 
by  three  narrow  satin  cords:  the  bot- 
tom of  the  long  sleeve  is  ornamented 
to  correspond.  The  spencer  fastens 
behind  by  silk  buttons;  and  the  ceh\- 
titre,  which  is  composed  of  intermin- 
gled silk  and  velvet  folds,  is  clasped 
by  a  gold  or  steel  buckle. 

The  crown  of  the  hat  is  of  the 
melon  form,  but  low;  the  brim  is 
shallow,  of  the  same  depth  all  round, 
but  turned  up  in  front,  where  it  is 
slashed  in  three  places;  the  slashes 
are  filled  with  blond,  and  finished 
round  the  edge  by  a  narrow  piping 
of  white  satin,  of  which  material  the 
lining  is  composed.  A  very  full 
plume  of  white  ostrich  feathers,  tip- 
ped with  green,  falls  over  to  the  left 
side:  the  strings  are  of  that  rich  rib- 
bon called  by  the  French  ruban  des 
plumes. 


566 


FUliNCH    FKMALB   FASHIONS. 


A  morning  carriage  bonnet,  com- 
posed of  intermingled  black  velvet 
and  satin,  is  remarkable  for  its  ele- 
gance. The  crown  is  low;  the  vel- 
vet and  satin  are  disposed  on  it  in  the 
lozenge  style ;  the  inside  of  the  brim 
is  covered  with  broad  black  blond 
lace,  arranged  in  flutings,  and  the 
edge  is  scolloped  so  as  to  suffer  these 
flutings  to  be  partially  seen:  seven 
or  eight  marabout  plumes,  of  differ- 
ent sizes,  are  disposed  in  front  of  the 
crown,  so  as  to  form  a  very  graceful 
ornament ;  and  black  blond  lappets, 
edged  with  a  narrow  lace,  tie  under 
the  chin. 

We  have  seen  some  dinner  dress- 
es of  bourre  de  sole,  trimmed  with 
an  intermixture  of  satin  and  pluche  de 
sole.  One  of  the  prettiest  of  these 
was  a  bright  scarlet,  the  body  made 
a  la  vierge.  The  centre  of  the  bust 
was   ornamented    with    rouleaus   of 


pluche  de  soie,  which  formed  a  fan ; 
the  bust  was  cut  square,  and  orna- 
mented by  a  narrow  twisted  rouleau 
of  intermingled  pluche  and  satin. 
Short  full  sleeve,  finished  at  the  bot- 
tom with  a  rouleau  similar  to  that 
of  the  bust.  The  trimming  of  the 
skirt  consists  of  a  fulness  of  satin,  in- 
terspersed with  ornaments  similar  to 
those  in  the  centre  of  the  bust.  This 
style  of  trimming  is  striking,  but 
would  look  better  in  lighter  mate- 
rials. 

Toques,  turbans,  and  dress  caps 
are  expected  to  be  very  general  in 
full  dress;  and  the  two  former  very 
much  in  the  French  style;  that  is  to 
say,  ornamented  with  plumes  of  at 
least  two  different  colours. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  crimson, 
bright  scarlet,  lavender,  chesnut- 
brown,  dark  green,  violet,  ponceau, 
rose,  and  azure. 


FRENCH  FEMALE  FASHIONS. 


Paris,  Nov.  18. 

My  dear  Sophia, 

Our  public  promenades  are 
at  present  very  brilliant,  most  of  our 
distinguished  fashionables  having  ar- 
rived within  the  last  few  days  in  Pa- 
ris from  their  country-seats.  Gros 
de  Naples  rtdingotes,  which  are  al- 
ways worn  with  shawls,  are  much  in 
favour  for  the  promenade,  but  not 
quite  so  general  as  manteaux :  these 
latter  are  mostly  composed  of  coating, 
lined  with  satin  or  levantine:  a  few 
elegantes,  however,  still  continue  to 
wear  them  in  that  peculiarly  lustrous 
black  satin  which  was  last  winter  so 
fashionable.  The  colours  most  fa- 
shionable for  those  in  coating  are,  the 
mantle  of  Socrates  (a  peculiar  shade 
of  grey),  and  a  reddish  brown,  called 
bear's  ear.   The  manteau  has  seldom 


any  trimming,  but  the  collar  and  pe- 
lerine are  occasionally  of  fur.  Rt- 
dingotes are  made  in  two  ways,  both 
equally  fashionable:  the  first  wrap 
considerably  across,  have  a  band  of 
velvet  which  goes  all  round,  and  a 
double  pelerine,  trimmed  also  with  a 
band  of  velvet  to  correspond:  the 
sleeves  are  very  large  and  loose,  and 
the  standing  collar  falls  over.  The 
other  description  of  rtdingote  is  ve- 
ry much  trimmed ;  it  meets  but  docs 
not  wrap  in  front,  and  has  a  broad 
wreath,  either  of  foliage  in  satin,  or 
else  of  very  small  rouleaus,  disposed 
in  a  scroll  pattern.  The  most  fa- 
shionable shawls  are  those  with  a 
crimson  ground,  or  else  with  a  deep 
palm  border. 

Morning  bonnets   consist  for  the 
most  part  of  an  intermixture  of  satin 


INTELLIGENCE,    LITERARY,    SCIENTIFIC,    &C. 


mi 


vtxihpluche  desoie  or  velours  epingle, 
or  gros  de  Naples,  and  always  of  two 
colours,  which  are  generally  strongly 
contrasted ;  they  are  trimmed  either 
with  a  garland  of  satin  coques,  or 
knots  of  satin. 

Breakfast  dress  is  always  made  in 
the  rtdingote  style,  and  is  still  gene- 
rally of  cambric  muslin.  The  most 
fashionable  are  trimmed  with  rou- 
leaus of  clear  muslin,  disposed  in 
waves  all  round;  they  are  fastened 
up  the  fronts  by  knots  of  clear  mus- 
lin. A  large  pelerine,  trimmed  with 
a  fall  of  clear  muslin,  disposed  in 
dents  de  loup,  and  a  collerette  form- 
ed of  muslin  bouillonne,  completes 
the  dress. 

Dinner  gowns  are  of  le  van  tine,  gros 
de  Naples,  or  Merino.  Those  in  silk 
are  usually  trimmed  with  an  inter- 
mixture of  satin  and  crepe  lisse,  or 
satin  and  velours  epingle.  The  crape 
is  disposed  in  bouffants,  which  are 
interspersed  with  leaves,  rouleaus, 
cockle-shells,  &c.  &c.  in  satin  or  vel- 
vet. Many  dinner  gowns  are  made 
a  la  vierge  and  with  long  sleeves. 
The  sleeves  arc  frequently  of  crepe 
lisse,  surmounted  by  an  epaulette  of 
the  same  material  as  the  gown.  The 
.  sleeve  is  either  very  loose,  except  at 
the  wrist,  where  it  is  confined  by  the 
bracelet,  or  else  the  fulness  is  divid- 
ed into  compartments  by  satin  bands. 
Gauze,  crepe  lisse,  tulle,  and  Chi- 
na crape,  are  all  in  favour  in  full 
dress.  The  most  fashionable  Chi- 
na crape  is  that  a  colonnes  cnfeuille. 
When  the  gown  is  of  this  material, 
it  is  usually  trimmed  with  an  inter- 


mixture of  plain  velvet  and  satin. 
Coloured  tulle  is  more  fashionable 
than  white ;  it  is  mostly  worn  over  a 
satin  slip  of  the  same  colour.  I  have 
seen  one,  however,  in  crimson  over 
white  satin,  which  I  thought  was 
really  striking  and  magnificent.  The 
trimming  consisted  of  a  net-work  of 
white  satin,  disposed  in  the  form  of 
little  baskets,  and  attached  to  each 
other  by  bows  of  crimson  ribbon ;  in 
each  of  these  fairy  baskets  is  a  sprig 
of  poppies  in  crimson  satin,  and  a 
bunch  of  silver  wheat.  The  corsage 
and  sleeves  are  richly  embroidered 
in  silver. 

Turbans  of  mingled  white  and 
rose-coloured  gauze,  trimmed  with 
white  aigrettes,  from  which  issue 
plumes  of  rose-coloured  feathers,  are 
very  fashionable  in  evening  dress; 
as  are  also  dress  caps  in  tulle,  the 
cauls  of  which  are  in  the  form  of  a 
cockle-shell,  and  the  fronts  adorned 
with  a  garland  of  short  plumes  of 
marabouts.  Others  have  the  crown 
of  a  helmet  form,  and  a  tuft  of  flow- 
ers placed  at  one  side,  in  the  style 
of  a  plume.  White  satin  toque  hats, 
adorned  with  turquoise-blue  scarfs, 
either  of  gauze  or  crape,  which  are 
twisted  round  the  corner,  and  form 
a  rosette  at  the  sides,  are  also  much 
in  favour. 

Fashionable  colours  are,  bear's  ear, 
mantle  of  Socrates,  Carmelite  brown 
(which  we  call  la  Valliere),  pon- 
ceau, rose  colour,  raisin  of  Corinth 
blue,  straw  colour,  and  light  green. 
Adieu !  my  dear  Sophia !  Always  your 
Eudocia. 


INTELLIGENCE,  LITERARY,  SCIENTIFIC,  &c. 

instructive,  moral,  and  religious,  translat- 
ed from  the  German  of  Dr.  F.  A.  Krum- 
maclier. 

a   C 


Mr.  Ackermann  is  printing,  in  a  neat 
pocket  volume,  particularly  suitable  for  a 
present  to  youth  of  both  sexes,  Parables, 
Vol.  II.  No.  XII. 


368 


PORTUAITS    OF    THli   PASSIONS. 


Mr.  John  Curtis  lias  in  the  press,  the 
first  number  of  his  Illustrations  of  Eng- 
glish  Insects.  The  intention  of  the  au- 
thor is  to  publish  highly  finished  figures 
of  such  species  of  insects  (with  the  plants 
upon  which  they  are  found)  as  constitute 
the  British  genera,  with  accurate  repre- 
sentations of  the  parts  on  which  the  cha- 
racters are  founded  ;  and  descriptive  let- 
ter-press to  each  plate,  giving  as  far  as 
possible  the  habits  and  economy  of  the 
subjects  selected.  The  work  will  be  pub- 
lished monthly,  to  commence  the  1st  of 
January,  1824. 

In  a  few  days  will  be  published,  illus- 
trated with  a  portrait  by  Scriven,  and 
an  interesting  plate  by  J.  Scott,  Nou- 
veaux  Morceaux  Choisis  de  Buff  on  ;  with 
authentic  interesting  anecdotes,  and  the 
life  of  the  author,  written  expressly  for 
this  work;  forming  the  fourth  part  of  the 
series  of  French  Classics,  edited  by  Mons. 
Ventouillac. 

A.  Bernardo  is  preparing  for  publica- 
tion, The  Italian  Interpreter ;  consisting 
of  copious  and  familiar  conversations  on 
subjects  of  general  interest  and  utility  ; 
together  with  a  complete  Vocabulary  in 
English  and  Italian:  to  which  are  added 
rules  for  the  pronunciation  of  each  word, 
exemplified  in  a  manner  calculated  to  fa- 
cilitate the  acquisition  of  the  Italian  lan- 
guage. 

St.  Italian's  Well  is  the  title  of  the  new 
novel  upon  which  the  author  of  Waverly 
is  engaged.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Scot- 
land, and  the  time  about  forty  years  ago. 


Mrs.  Opie  will  shortly  publish  a  tale 
in  two  volumes,  entitled  The  Painter  and 
his  Wife. 

The  Memoirs  of  Gothe,  the  celebrated 
German  poet,  are  nearly  ready  for  publi- 
cation. 

The  Private  Correspondence  of  the  late 
William  Coivper,  Esq.  in  two  volumes  8vo. 
now  first  published  from  the  originals,  is 
in  a  forward  state,  and  is  expected  to 
form  a  valuable  addition  to  the  author's 
"  Life." 

The  Memoirs  of  Samuel  Pcpys,  Esq. 
Secretary  to  the  Admiralty  during  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.  now  first  decyphered 
from  the  original  MSS.  written  in  short- 
hand, and  preserved  in  the  Pepysian  Li- 
brary, are  preparing  for  the  press.  The 
work  will  form  two  volumes  4to.  printed 
uniformly  with  Evelyn's  Memoirs,  and 
be  embellished  with  portraits. 

Sir  Andrew  Halliday  has  nearly  ready 
for  the  press,  The  Lives  of  the  Dukes  of  Ba- 
varia, Saxony,  and  Brunswick,  ancestors 
of  the  Kings  of  Great  Britain  of  the  Guel- 
phic  dynasty;  with  portraits  of  the  most 
illustrious  of  these  princes,  from  drawings 
made  from  ancient  statues  and  paintings 
by  old  masters. 

Mr.  Wight,  Bow-street  reporter  to 
the  Morning  Herald,  has  in  the  press,  a 
Selection  of  One  Hundred  of  the  most 
humorous  and  entertaining  of  the  Re- 
ports which  have  appeared  in  the  Morn- 
ing Herald  in  the  last  three  years,  illus- 
trated by  George  Cruikshank. 


PORTRAITS  OF  THE  PASSIONS. 


In  our  last  Number  we  announc- 
ed tiie  speedy  appearance  of  a  Series 
of  Heads  with  the  above  title,  design- 
ed to  exhibit  the  physiognomical  ex- 
pression of  all  the  principal  passions 
which  affect  the  human  mind.  We 
here  submit  to  our  readers  an  exact 
specimen  of  the  portraits  which  will 


be  given  in  that  interesting  work, 
from  a  drawing  on  stone  by  Mr. 
Grattan:  with  this  difference,  that 
the  annexed  print  is  on  royal  octavo 
paper ;  whereas  the  work  itself  will 
be  considerably  larger,  being  printed 
on  imperial  paper.  The  first  num- 
ber is  ready  for  delivery. 


oraftam   de/ 


/k//v     A  .■Icker/n.cn.),   .    iri?3. 


JtrvnUofriy  C 7fv2i>mam4fol' 


§  miLW  -  i£Mir  ©mai!  <d: 


Txiou  hast  seen  a  farmer's    ^°^  hart  at  abedrtar, 

Auid  the  creature  turn  from  the  cur;  there, 

There  ,thcm  mA6ht'st  hehold  the  dreat  ima6e  of  authority, 

A_  iotf   okey'd  in  office" 


369 


INDEX. 


Abbey  ruins  by  moonlight,  169 

Academicians  of  1823,  announced,  247 

Adorgama  and  Olliena,  319 

Anecdotes,  &c.  historical,  literary,  and  per- 
sonal, 5,  105,  170,  240,  357 

Angers  and  its  environs,  particular!  respect- 
ing, 322 

Animation,  voluntary  suspension  of,  172 

Arracacha,  an  American  root,  its  introduc- 
tion into  Great  Britain,  247 

Artists,  notice  respecting  the  new  Society 
of,  61 

Arts,  fine,  54,118,  302 

Ashbrook,  viscount,  view  of  his  seat,  314 

Atherstone,  Mr  his  Midsummer  -  Day's 
Dream  announced,  309 

Autumnal  evening,  lines  on  an,  310 
B. 

Ballad,  248 

Baptismal  names,  prepossessions  in  favour 
of  some,  333 

Barclay,  R.  esq.  view  of  his  seat,   126 

Barnett,  J.  his  "  Ode  to  the  Bark"  reviewed, 
117 

Barret,  G.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  119 

Barton,  B.  on  the  death  of  Robert  Bloomfield, 
231 — verses  on   a  seal  belonging  to,  271 

Beale,  R.  his  "  County  Guy"  reviewed,    117 

Beauty  and  Fashion,  265 

Becket,  Thomas,  his  descent,  357 

Bed,  state,  description  of  a,   185 

Before  and  after  marriage,   106 

Beggar-woman  of  the  Chaussee  d'Antin,  156 

Behaviour,  101 

Behaviour,  good,  160 

Bernardo,  A.  his  Italian  Interpreter  an- 
nounced, 368 

Biagioli,  Mr.  his  Boccacio's  Decameron  an- 
nounced, 246 

Bishop,  H.  R.  review  of  his  "  Home,  sweet 
home,"  54 — his  "  Oh!  sweet  is  the  gale 
that  blows  over  the  sea,"  302 

Blackstone's  Commentaries,  translation  of 
the  Greek,  &c.  Notes  in,  announced,  247 

Beaumont  lodge,  view  of,  314 

Bloomfield,  Robert,  verses  on  the  death  of, 
231 

Bodin,  M.  extracts  from  his  historical  work 
on  Anjou,  322 

Bonchamp«,  marquis  de,  his  humanity,  325 

Borgia,  Ca-sar,  his  entry  into  Angers,  323 

Borri,the  alchymist,  some  account  of,  296 

Bouille,  mademoiselle  de,  anecdote  of,   106 

Bramsen,  Mr.  his  Remarks  on  Spain  an- 
nounced, 246 

British  Institution,  exhibition  of  the,  54 

Broadhead,  T.  H  esq   view  of  his  seat,  64 

Brothers,  the  three,  9,  83,  129 

Bruguier,  D.  his  "  What  phrase,  sad  and 
soft,"  reviewed,  302 

Buccaneers,  the,  38 

Bunyau,  John,  anecdote  of,   172 

B-onaparte,  anecdote  of,  211 


Burrowes,  J.  !•'.  review  of  his  Locke's  Music 
in  Macbeth,   116 

Bury-hill,  view  of,   126 
C. 

Campa  na  Aillach,  the  song  of,   109 

Campa-Run,  42 

Campbell,  T.  his  Selection  of  Songs,  &c.  re- 
viewed, 51 

Card,  Rev.  H.  his  Life  of  Bishop  Burnet  an- 
nounced, 60 

Cards,  origin  of,   105 

Carey,  F.  J.  her  Tour  in  France  announced, 
60 

Castle  and  the  farm,  a  tale,  23,  78,  149,  198 

Caterpillars,  method  of  destroying,  310 

Catherine  of  Russia,  anecdote  of,   108 

Chairs,  description  of,  59 

Chapelle,  abbe  de  la,  his  adventure  with  a 
supposed  ghost,  347 

Character,  on  external  indications  of,  3:58 

Charles  I.  masque  given  for  his  entertain- 
ment, 337 

Charles  V.  of  France,  description  of  his  pa- 
lace, 298 

Charles  XII.  anecdote  of,   107 

Charnace,  marquis  de,  anecdote  of,  324 

Chausse  d'Antin,  the  beggar-woman  of,    156 

Chivalry,  its  principles  and  spirit,  350 

Christall,  J.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,   1 19 

Christina,  queen  of  Sweden,  particulars  re- 
specting, 296 

Clarke,  Rev.  W.  B.  his  verses  to  Bernard 
Barton,  271 

Clementine  d'Isaure,  217 

Clennell,  L.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  1 18 

Cohen,  B.  his  Memoirs  of  Pope  Pius  VII. 
announced,  309 

Combe,  \V.  particulars  respecting,  87 — his 
Letters  between  Amelia  and  her  Mother 
announced,  309 

Confessions  of  a  Rambler,  154,  194,  284,  342 

Convict-ship,  letter  from  the  captain  or 
34 

Cook,  Mr.  his  discovery  of  a  process  for  ren- 
dering linen,  &c.  incombustible,  248 

Coronation  anecdote,   105 

Corfu,  discovery  of  a  Grecian  temple  near, 
290 

Country-seats,  views  of,  1,  63,  125,  187,  219, 
•ill 

Courts  of  Love,  account  of,  350 

Cowper,  William,  bis  Private  Correspond- 
ence announced,  368 

Cramer,  J.  B.  review  of  his  Rode's  celebrated 
Air,  361— his  Romance  by  Bishop,  362 

Curtis,  J.  his  Illustrations  of  English  Insects 
announced,  368 

D. 

Dancing,  the  universal  passion,  167 

Dannecker,  J.  H.  some  account  of  him  and 
his  works,  270 

Danueley,  J.  F.  his  "  Queen  of  every  mov- 
ing measure"  reviewed,  52 

Dawson,  W.  esq,  view*  of  his  seat,  249 

3  C  2 


370 


INDEX. 


Deafness,  the  advantage  of,  23 

De  Berry,  duchess,  anecdotes  of  her  and 
her  children,  240 

Deinhard stein,  lines  from  the  German  of,  310 

Dewint,  P.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,   119 

Dibdin,  Charles,  his  Sea  -  Songs  by  Dr. 
Kitchiner  reviewed,  359 

Diderot,  anecdote  of,  356 

Diorama,  the,  exhibition  of,  302 

Ditton  park,  view  of,  63 

Douglas,  sir  II.  anecdote  of,  5 

Drama,  on  the,  and  its  actors,  287 

Dropmore-house,  views  of,  311 

Dubois,  Mr.  C  his  Introduction  to  I.amark's 
Arrangement  of  the  Genera  of  Shells  an- 
nounced, 60 

Dubois,  Pierre,  mistake  of,  240 
E. 

East  Indies,  hail  and  ice  in  the,  107 

Eaton-hall,  view  of  the  entrance  front  of,  187 
— of  the  west  front  of,  190— of  the  temple 
at,  191 

Egerton,  W.  esq.  view  of  his  seat,  125 

Elephants,  white,  anecdote  respecting,  172 

Entertainment,  royal  and  loyal,  337 

Evans,  R.  W.  his  "  Five  Bumper  Toasts" 
reviewed,  299 

Exhibitions  of  pictures,  54,  118,  302 
F. 

Fair  incognita,  the,  99 

Fairies'  ball,  321 

Fairy-well,  the,  62 

Fallen  son  of  Switzerland,  212 

Fallen  tree,  the,  74 

Family  Oracle  of  Health  announced,  186 

Fashion  and  dress,  general  observations  on, 
57,  121,  182,244,305,365 

Fashion,  the  progress  of  a,  35 

Fashions  for  ladies,  56,  120,  181,  243,  305,  364 

Fashions,  French  female,  58,  122,  183,245, 
307,  366 

Fatal  Errors  and  Fundamental  Truths  an- 
nounced, 309 

Fidelity  and  love,  oriental,  332 

Fielding,  C.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  119 

Filterbrain,  Reginald,  letters  from,  3,  65, 
128,  192,  251,  315 

Fine  arts,  54,  118,302 

Florian,  translations  from,  217,  342 

Fontenelle,  anecdote  of,  8 

Fonthill  abbey,  description  of  the  pavilion 
at,  103 

Forbes,  sir  W.  his  Life  of  Dr.  Beattie  an- 
nounced, 186,309 

Forget  me  not  announced,  308 

Foster-brothers,  23,78,  149,  198 

Franklin,  Dr.  anecdote  of,  357 

French  female  fashions,  58,  122,  183,  245, 
307,  366 

French  female  parliament,  debates  of  the, 
32,  75,  203,  307—  letter  from  the  reporter 
of  the  debates  of,  317 

Funerals,  sacrifices  at,   106 

Furniture,  fashionable,  59,  185 
G. 

Gaelic  relics,  42,  108,  219,  321 

Gamble,  Mr.  his  Charlton  announced,  309 

Garden,  the,  a  rhapsody,  327 

Genius,  the  wife  of  a,  67,  164,  225 

Ghost  stories,  9,  83,  129,  274,  347 

Glover,  J.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  120 

Glow-worms,  East  Indfen,  description  of,  106 


Goddard,  general,  anecdotes  of  him  and  his 
lady,  332 

Good  behaviour,   160 

Gothe,  Memoir  of,  announced,  368 

Grenville,    lord,  his  seat  at  Dropmore,  311 

Grimm,  H.  N.  his  description  of  East  Indian 
glow-worms,   106 

Grosvenor,  earl  of,  his  seat  at  Eaton,   187 

Gutteridge,  W.  his  "  Thou  rob'st  my  days," 
&c.  reviewed,  364 

H. 

Hackney-coach,  horrors  of  a,  28 — the  plea- 
sures of  one,  72 

Hail  and  ice  in  the  East  Indies,   107 

Halliday,  sir  A.  his  Lives  of  the  Dukes  of 
Bavaria,   &c.  announced,  368 

Ilamond,  E.  E.  her  Juvenile  Songs  reviewed, 
180 

Hazelwood  Hall  announced,  60 

Heaphy,T.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,   120 

Henderson,  Dr.  his  History  of  Wines  an- 
nounced, 309 

Hervey,  Miss  J.  her  Mountalyth  announced, 
309 

Hill,  colonel,  anecdote  of,   172 

Hill,  Joseph,  his  "  The  Dawn,  or  the  Shep- 
herd's Call,"  reviewed,  301 

Hills,  II.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  120 

Holly-grove  house,  view  of,  64 

Holmes,  J.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,   119 

Holt,  chief  justice,  anecdote  of,   172 

Horae  Momenta  Cravenac,  or  the  Craven 
Dialect,  announced,  185 

Hughes,  T.  A.  his  "  County  Guy"  reviewed, 
363 

Hullmandel,  Mr.  his  lithographic  discovery, 
124 

Humanity,  the  valour  of,   171 

Hummel,  J  N.  review  of  his  Mozart's  Six 
Symphonies,  50,  177 

Hurtado  and  Miranda,  history  of,   174 

Hydrophobia,  cure  of,  48 
I. 

Imagination,  the  power  of,  267 

India,  remarks  on  the  condition  of  the  people 
of,  31 

Infant  shepherd  and  poet,  342 

Influence  and  Example,  or  the  Recluse,  an- 
nounced, 60 

Intelligence,  literary,  and  scientific,  60,  123, 
185,  246,  308,  367 

Italian  Tales  announced,  309 
J. 

Japan  in  Miniature  announced,  124 

Jay,  J.  his  Introduction  and  Variations  on  a 
French  Air  by  Fontaine  reviewed,  301 

James  I  circumstances  attending  his  mar- 
riage, 358 

Johnson,  Dr.  anecdote  of,  107 
K. 

Kalkbrenner,F.  his  Impromtu  on  the  "  Bard's 
Request"  reviewed,  360 

Kiallmark,  G.  his  "  Orpheus  lost  his  bloom- 
ing bride,"  reviewed,  301 — his  "  Yes,  thou 
art  gone,"  reviewed,  363 

Kissing,  origin  of,  5 

Kitchiner,  Dr.  his  Sea-Songs  of  Charles 
Dibdin  reviewed,  359 

Klaproth,  J.  his  Description  of  China  an- 
nounced, 124 

Knight-errantry,  royal,    358 

Knights  of  the  holy  war,  219 


indi:x. 


.371 


Korner,  T.  his  address  to  the  five  oaks  at 
Dallwitz,  62 — his  address  to  the  Rhine,  148 

Krummacher,  Dr.  translation  of  his  Para- 
bles announced,  367 

Kummer,  C.  W.  notice  respecting  his  pro- 
jecting globe,   124 

L. 

Lacey,  J.  M  his  recollections  of  West  Mill,  15 

Ladies,  London  fashions  for,  56,  120,  181, 
243,  305,  364 — general  observations  on 
fashions  for,  57,^121,  182,244,305,365— 
French  fashions  for,  58,  122,  183,  245,  307, 
366 

Lambert,  Rev.  J.  his  lines  to  Lady  Leicester, 
and  some  account  of  him,   134 

Landseer,  Mr.  his  Sabsan  Researches  an- 
nounced, 60 

Latour,  T,  his  Arrangement  of  Airs  in  Ros- 
sini's Opera  of  Ricciardo  e  Zoraide  re- 
viewed, 360 

L'Aurorad'Italia,  review  of,  51 

Lavater's  Introduction  to  Anatomy  an- 
nounced, 309 

Leczinska,  Maria,  anecdotes  of,  6 

Leicester,  sir  J.  F.  hart,  view  of  his  seat,  1 

"  Les  belles  Fleurs"  reviewed,  361 

Letter  from  tne  reporter  of  the  debates  of 
the  French  Female  Parliament,  317 — from 
Count  Volney,  356 

Letters  from  Reginald  Filterbrain,  3,  65,  128, 
192,  251,  315 

Lhauda,  276 

Library,  royal,  notice  respecting,  61 

Linen,  lime-bleached,  method  of  detecting 
it,  248 

Lines  on  a  painting  of  a  jay's  feather,  186— • 
to  a  young  lady  on  her  birthday,  186 — on 
an  autumnal  evening,  310 

Literary  and  scientific  intelligence,  60,  123, 
185,  246,  308,  367 

Loiterer,  the,  70,  261 

London  fashions,  56,  120,  181,  213,  305,  364 

Louis  XIV.  Memoirs  of  the  Court  of,  an- 
nounced, 185     - 

Louis  XV.  anecdote  of,  242 

Love,  310 — account  of  the  courts  of,  350 

Lucknow,  description  of  General  Martin's 
house  at,  99 

M. 

Macdonald,  Mr.  his  method  of  preserving 
corn,  &c.  from  mice,  61 

Mackenzie,  F.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  120 

Mac  Leod,  Dr.  his  Ellen  Gray  announced,  60 

M'Murdie,  J.  his  Glee  reviewed,  52 

Magazines,  remarks  on,  173 

Malcolm,  sir  John,  his  Memoir  of  Central 
India  announced,  60 

Mammoth,  remains  of  one  discovered,  30 

Marochetti,  Mr.  on  a  cure  for  hydrophobia,  48 

Martin,  general,  description  of  his  house 
at  Lucknow,  99 

Masque  given  for  the  entertainment  of 
Charles  I.  and  his  queen,  337 

Maturin,  Rev.  Mr.  new  Romance  by  him  an- 
nounced, 185,  309 

Milan,  the  widow  of,  274 

Milton,  Mr.  notice  respecting  his  new  hive 
for  bees,  186 

Miranda  and  Hurtado,  history  of,   170 

Mistakes,  melancholy,  240 

Mocking-bird,  anecdote  of,  173 

Monitor,  the  eccentric,  11 


Monro,  J.  his  "  The  Champion  Waltz"  re- 
viewed, 53 

Montagu,  lord,  view  of  his  seat,  63 

Morgan,  lady,  her  Memoirs  of  Salvator  Rosa 
announced,  309 

Moscheles,  T.  review  of  his  Variations  on 
"The  Fall  of  Paris,"  50 

Murder,  discovery  of  a,  8 

Musical  review,  50,  113,  177,299,359 
N. 

Names,  baptismal,  prepossessions  in  favour 
of,  333 

Nash,  F.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  118 

Nicholson,  C.  his  Fantasia  on  "  Home,  sweet 
home,"  reviewed,  300 

Nixon,  H.  C.  review  of  his  La  Danse,  117 

Neele,  H.  stanzas  by,  310 

Netherlands  in  Miniature  announced,  309 
O. 

Oginsky,  F.  W.  P.  national  polonaise  by, 
113 

Oil  of  Blarney,  singular  properties  of,  253 

Old  maid,  portrait  of  one,   176 

Old  maids,  remarks  on  the  popular  preju- 
dices against,   17 

Opie,  Mrs.  her  Tale  of  the  Painter  and  his 
Wife  announced,  368 

Oriental  fidelity  and  love,  332 
P. 

Parliament,  French  Female,  debates  of  the, 
32,  75,  203,  307 

Parlour,  tour  round  my,   142,  207,  2-56 

Passion,  the  universal,   167 

Passions,  portraits  of  the,  announced,  309 

Pawnee  Indian,  anecdote  of,   170 

Pennington,  Rev.  C.  his  Former  Scenes  Re- 
newed, announced,  309 

Pepys,  Samuel,  his  Memoirs  announced,  368 

Poetry,  3,  15,  23,  62,  65,  74,  128,  134,  145, 
148,  169,  186,  192,  209,  213,  217,  231,  248, 
251,  265,  271,  283,  295,  310,  315,  342 

Polonaise,  national,   113 

Porter,  Miss,  her  Duke  Christian  of  Liiue- 
burg  announced,  309 

Portrait  of  an  old  maid,  176 

Portraits  of  the  passions,  specimen  of,  368 

Poole,  S.  his  Arrangement  of  "  We're  a 
noddin"  reviewed,  363 

Power  of  imagination,  267 

Preville,  the  actor,  anecdote  of,  41 

Prinsep,  Miss  L.  her  translation  of  Tasso's 
Jerusalem  Delivered  announced,  309 

Prout,  S.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,   119 

Pugin,  A.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  119 

Purkis,  John,  review  of  his  Sixth  Fantasia, 
116 

Pyramids,  remarks  on,  358 
Q. 

Quadrilles,  review  of,  117 

Quin,   M.  his  Visit  to  Spain  announced,  60 
R. 

Rambler,  the  confessions  of  a,  154,  194,  284, 
342 

Ramsbottom,  J.  esq.  view  of  his  seat,  250 

Reformation,    172 

Reinagle,  R.  R.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  119 

Rawlings,  T.  A.  his  Divertisement  reviewed, 
362 

Renard,  anecdote  of,  7 

Review,  musical,  50,  113,  177,  299,  359 

Rhine,  address  to  the,   148 

Richttr,  H.  remarks  on  a  pi  jturc  by,   120 


372 


INDEX. 


Ries,  F.  review  of  his  "  When  meteor  lights," 

54 — his  the  national  Air  "  Nelson,"  300 
Rimbault,  S.  F.  review  of  his  Rossini's  Over- 
ture, &c.  to  "  La  Donna  del  Lago,"53 — his 
Select  Italian  Airs,    116— his  Paer's  Over- 
ture to    Leono're,    117  —  his   Shield's    Air 
"  "What  are  the  boasted  joys  of  love,"  117 
— his  Select  French   Romances  reviewed, 
363 
Fob  Roy  Macgregor,  anecdote  of,  5V 
Robson,  G.  F.  remarks  on  a  picture  by,  119 
Rossini,  the  Life  of,  announced,  246 

,  Mr  his  "  In  morning's  dawn  no  hope 
I  see,"  53  — his  "  Adieu,  adieu,  my  love," 
reviewed,  363 
Russians,  character  of  the,  6 

S. 
St.  Germain,  the  ghost  of,  347 
St.  Johnstown,  an  historical  novel,  announc- 
ed, 309 
St.  Ronan's  Well,  by  the  author  of  Waverly, 

announced,  368 
St  Paul,  hotel  de,  description  of,  295 
Salmon,  J.  his"  La  Recreation"  reviewed, 115 
Sanderson,  J.  review  of  his  Series  of  Popular 
Airs,  114— his  "Anxious   by  the  gliding 
stream,"  115 
Scrofula,  asylum  for  the  cure  of,  124 
Serjeant's  wife,  adventures  of,   140 
Serrant,  Chateau  de,  description  of,  325 
Sharp,  Mr.  notices  respecting  his  portrait  of 

Dr  Jenner,  60,  123 
Sheldrake,  Mr.  his   Inquiry,  into  the  Origin 
and  Practiced  Painting  in  Oil  announced, 
185 
Shepherd  and  poet,  the  infant,  342 
Sheridan,  Dr.  his  character  by  Swift,  329 
Snuff-box,  verses  on  an  antique  one,  295 
Society  of  Arts,  rewards  adjudged  by  the,  46 
Sophia  lodge,  view  of,  249 
Stiiel,  madame  de,  character  of  the  Russians 

by,  6 

Stanzas  in  acknowledgment  of    a    piece  of 
bride-cake,  283— by" H.  Neele,  310 

Stephanoff,  J   remarks  on  a  picture  by,  120 

Stewart's  Popular  Superstitions  of  the  High- 
landers, extract  from,  321 

Storm  at  sea,  description  of,  345 

Sunday  in  Bristol,  89 

Swallow,  similes  on  a,  234 

Swift,  dean,  his  history  of  the  second  Solo-  j 
mon,  329 

Switzerland,  the  fallen  son  of,  212 
T. 

Tabley-house,  view  of,   1  — Scene  in  Tabley 
park,  2 

Tatton-hall,  view  of,   125 

Temple,  Grecian,  discovery  of  a,  290 

Three  brothers,  the,  9,  83,   129 

Time's  Telescope  for  1824  announced,  310 

Tooke's  Diversions  of  Purley,  new  edition  of,  I 
announced,  60  .   j 

Topliff,   R  his  Quadrilles,  117 

Tour  round  my  parlour,  142,  207,  256 


Tournaments,  ancient,  322 

Townsend,  colonel,  si^pcnsiou  of  anima- 
tion in,   172 

Trial  of  the  Witnesses  announced,  309 

Trifles,  329 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.  remarks  on  a  picture  by, 
118 

Twin  sisters,  the,  92 

Tyrol  and  Tyrolese,  sketches  of,  234 
U. 

Uwins,  T.  remarks  o*i  a  picture  by,   1 19 
V. 

Ventonillac,  L  T.  his  French  Classics  an- 
nounced, 185 — his  Nouveaux  Moreeaux 
Choisis  de  Buffon,  announced,  368 

Views  of  country-seats,  1,  63,  125,  187,  249, 
311 

Vocal  Anthology,  review  of,  113,  180,  299 

Voice  from  St.  Peter's  and  St.  Paul's  an- 
nounced, 60 

Volney,  count,  biographical  particulars  of, 
326— original  letters  from,  356 

Voltaire,  anecdote  of,   108 
W. 

Warren,  Mr.  sale  of  his  collection  of  prints, 
186 

Warton,  Mr  his  History  of  English  Poetry 
announced,  60 

Water-Colour  Exhibition,  notice  respe?ting, 
61 

,  review  of,  1 18 


Webbc,  S  review  of  his  Ode  to  Spring,  53 — 
his  Ode  to  Solitude,  114 — his  La  mia  Do- 
rabella,  ib  —his  "  The  Winter  Rose,"  180 
— his  Introduction  and  Triumphal  March, 
181 

Wenslev,  F   H.  her  Four  Songs  reviewed,  178 

Westall,  W  remarks  on  a  picture  by,   118 

Westmacott,  C.  his  Points  of  Misery  an- 
nounced, 310 

West  Mill,  recollections  of,    15 

Whitmore,  colonel,  his  description  of  the 
Grecian  temple  discovered  near  Corfu, 
290 

Widow  of  Milan,  274 

Wife  of  a  genius,  67,   164,  225 

Wight,  Mr.  his  Humorous  Reports  announc- 
ed, 368 

Wild,  Mr.  his  Illustrations  of  Worcester  Ca- 
thedral announced,  247 

Williams,  Mr  his  Designs  from  the  Phigalian 
Marbles  announced,  247 

Wilson,  bishop,  anecdote  of,  105 

Wirtemberg,  discovery  of  remarkable  ani- 
mal remains  in,  30 

Witchcraft,   172 

Wives,  prospectus  of  a  new  institution  for 
the  formation  of,   135 

Woodside,  view  of,  250 

Woodward,  E.  his  "  Orythia"  reviewed,  53 

Worcester  in  1823,  20 

Wright,  Mr.  his  Mercantile  Assistant  an- 
nounced, 60 

Wry  mouth,  the,  7 


END    OF   THE    SECOND    VOLUME. 


Printed  by  L.  Harrison,  373,  Strand.